


Cannot Lose Her

by PotionChemist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-09-28 15:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20427878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist
Summary: From Draco's POV... a quick rewrite of Deathly Hallows with canon events altered.Hermione Granger seems to haunt Draco Malfoy's thoughts from the end of sixth year through the end of the war... At the beginning of his seventh year, his thoughts race until he comes to a startling conclusion - he cannot lose her in this war, and he will do anything to save her.





	1. 30 June 1997

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [DramioneFanfictionForum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramioneFanfictionForum/pseuds/DramioneFanfictionForum) in the [2019SoundsLikeDramione](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2019SoundsLikeDramione) collection. 

> Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, but are property of JKR And Warner Bros and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> "I only think about her, must get to her, cannot lose her..."  
F.C.P.R.E.M.I.X. - Fall of Troy
> 
> LaBelladoneX and CuppaTea90.... thank you for every second you spend on my stories. Your insights and edits are invaluable.

I climb the stairs to the top of the Astronomy Tower, resigned to my fate. I know that once Dumbledore sees the Dark Mark hovering above this specific tower, he’ll come running, hoping there is someone to save. However, he’ll actually be running towards his own death. I finally reach the top, and the headmaster has already collapsed, a broom nearby. I quickly disarm him, not wanting to take the chance that he will act first. 

We volley back and forth about choices and my mission; it’s all what I would expect from the old man. But I still can’t bring myself to end his life. It’s one fucking spell, and I know I have to actually mean it for it to work. I think of my mother and how her life is on the line. I think of how I’ll be killed if I fail. My conviction still won’t come, and I start to feel resigned to my fate. 

The barrier I put up is breached; my psychotic aunt, the Carrows, and the disgusting werewolf all come running up the stairs. They watch me struggle, egging me on. They banter with Dumbledore, and I think how ironic it is that our feelings about the other Death Eaters are actually the same. I hate them just as much as he does. 

A few moments later, Snape emerges, his black robes billowing in the night air. Dumbledore looks to him and begs. He begs Severus to save him, and I know I’m about to learn where Snape’s loyalties truly lie. Before I can react, there is a flash of fluorescent green and Dumbledore is blasted off the tower. I watch, completely paralyzed, as his body hits the ground below. It’s done. It’s really fucking done. Dumbledore is dead, and I might get to live. My mother, at the very least, will get to live. I’m sure the Dark Lord will be less than forgiving since I wasn’t the one to actually end the Headmaster’s life, but my plan to get Death Eaters into Hogwarts fucking worked. Thank Salazar for Severus Snape — he most likely just saved my fucking life. Apparently everyone who doubted Snape’s loyalty to the Dark Lord had been mistaken.

My Head of House grabs my arm, shouting at me to run. We make our way down the stairs and find ourselves in the midst of a battle. Snape tries to keep me focused, pulling me in the right direction, but then I see _ her _. Of course she’d fucking be here, dueling Death Eaters two or three times her age. Didn’t she fucking learn anything after the Department of Mysteries last year? Dolohov’s curse had incapacitated her for days, but I guess that Gryffindor courage wasn’t damaged. 

Like an idiot I freeze, wanting to rush into battle and help the little brunette swot who really doesn’t even care if_ I _ fucking live or die. That doesn’t matter, though. I need to make sure she lives. It’s a strange compulsion considering I’ve hated her since we were eleven. Well, I thought I hated her. Ever since Viktor Krum made everyone take a second glance at her, it seems that no one can really find fault with her. She’s brilliant and beautiful and bold. Snape sees my lingering gaze and slaps the back of my head. 

“Are you mad, Draco?” He snarls, his low baritone rumbling. “This is not the moment! She’ll be fine! We need to go!”

What? Am I that transparent? Or does he just know me that well?

After half a second, Snape starts dragging me toward the staircase, and I have no choice but to follow. I commit her face to memory, a look of steely determination and fierceness that shouldn’t be possible on such a small person. This may be the last time I ever see her, and my breath gets stuck in my throat. My aunt is cackling madly, and I remember that I cannot let these bloody… _ feelings _ … show. She’ll kill Granger quicker than I can say _ Quidditch _.

  
Inside my head, I tell Granger what I wish I could’ve said in person: _ Get away from Potter and run for your fucking life. Take your Muggle parents and get out of Britain before it’s too late. I can’t bear to see you die. I know you don’t know, but I care for you, and soon there will be no safe place for Mudbloods. _


	2. August 1997

**2 August 1997**

I sit at the long dining table in the Manor. Dolohov and Rowle are being interrogated by the Dark Lord; they had been the ones to respond to the first breach of the taboo, but they can’t remember finding anyone. The Dark Lord fishes through their minds, scarlet eyes open and penetrating. He finds evidence of an advanced memory charm, and I can feel it in my gut.  _ She _ is responsible for their missing memories. He goes deeper into Dolohov’s brain and extracts a memory of her face, somewhat obstructed by brown curls, a wand with vines carved onto it, and the briefest flash of Potter and Weasley.

The Dark Lord looks to me. I’m the youngest at the table, the most likely to know anyone who will be traveling with Potter. Of course her curls are unmistakable to anyone who has ever met her. My eyes subtly look over her image in the Pensieve and Snape gives me a nearly imperceptible nod, telling me to go on. 

With my best sneer I say, “That’s Hermione Granger. Harry Potter’s Mudblood best friend.”

“A Mudblood? Really? I’ve never seen such wonderful memory charms from one so young,” the Dark Lord muses. “I want her. I want her brought to me as soon as possible.”

“You likely won’t find her until you find Potter,” Snape observes, sparing me from speaking.

“Potter will slip up again. We all know he cannot resist calling me by my name. When that happens, I want them both brought to me. Alive.”

Potter’s nasty habit of saying ‘Voldemort’ will need to be broken. If she is brought to the Dark Lord because of Potter, I will kill him myself.

* * *

**22 August 1997**

Her name and face are splashed across the Daily Prophet. She’s a Muggle-born and hasn’t presented herself to the Ministry for questioning. I know that she won’t comply. My father comments on her absence, throwing phrases like ‘Mudblood scum’ and ‘unworthy of magic’ into his ramblings. Azkaban has stripped him of his previous brilliance and arrogant persona, but he’s still a Death Eater to the core.

I pray to Merlin that someone can see all the ways I’m different from him… that she can. I used to want to be my father, and now I can’t stand the thought of being his clone.

After my father finishes with the paper, I take it with me to my bedroom. I examine her face for a few minutes. The photo is a couple of years old — most likely a reused one from when there were articles about Potter every other day during the Triwizard Tournament — but she looks basically the same. She may be an inch taller, and her hair is a bit more in control. She’s beautiful. 

I know I shouldn’t do it, but I fold it up and tuck it away in the pocket of my dress robes, the old ones that are all the way in the back of my wardrobe. No one will ever touch those robes. I can hide my secret obsession there.

I don’t know what it is about her. Honestly, I don’t even know why this started for me or why it’s intensifying now. This is obviously the worst fucking timing possible — I have to work to keep my thoughts of her buried at all times. I guess it could be the war. 

Potter may be a symbol to the public, but when all is said and done, this war is actually about Muggle-borns. People like her. If Potter wasn’t the one prophesied to defeat the Dark Lord, he would be safe in this world. He wouldn’t be as highly regarded as a pureblood, but as long as he toed the line, he would be fine.  _ She _ would never be fine. 

Though the thought of the Dark Lord wanting her brought in alive makes me a bit worried. He knows her magic is strong, that she’s brilliant. He would want to use her as a tool, and she would never stand for that. Unless she was utterly broken first. To me, that is completely unfathomable. 

To me, she is the essence of bravery and strength.


	3. September 1997

**1 September 1997**

I arrive at King’s Cross via Apparition. What a bloody waste of time… I could have used the Vanishing Cabinet from Borgin and Burkes, at Hogwarts in no time. On the platform, I see something unusual. Professor McGonagall is in her Animagus form. Most people probably think she’s just a cat lurking, but I see her markings. She’s carefully scanning the students, and I know she’s looking for  _ them _ . The Golden Trio. Scarhead, Weasel, and the little bookworm. I’m getting better at not even thinking her name; I practised all summer.

Deep inside my chest, my heart starts pounding. They wouldn’t be so stupid, so careless as to show up here, right? At the very least,  _ she _ is smarter than that. I’ll even admit that Potter is likely smarter than that. The Weasel is debatable, but he’d be safe coming back to school. He’s a pureblood; he’ll be fine if he has no contact with Potter and Gr—  _ shit, _ Potter and the Gryffindor swot. I scan the crowds for red hair. I see Weasel’s mother, but she’s only got the girl with her. 

I board the train and head to the last compartment. This is where I’ve sat every year since our fourth year, claiming the spot as my own after some seventh years graduated. I’ve always been an entitled little shit. I’m sure there were some fifth or sixth years who wanted it, but what the Malfoys want, the Malfoys get… the only exceptions being the Mudblood bookworm who stars in my dreams, and the Dark Lord leaving my fucking house.

When I get to the compartment, Blaise, Theo, Crabbe, and Goyle are already there. They’ve left my normal seat open, and they all look at me. I guess I’m still the ringleader, even though I technically didn’t complete my mission. I’m still the only person our age branded with that damn Dark Mark, so I guess that immediately puts me at the top of the pecking order. Lucky fucking me.

I’ve also been made Head Boy by Snape. This led to several… inventive… dreams about a shared heads’ dormitory where the Head Girl was from Gryffindor and had wild brown curls. In that dream, the  _ Head _ Girl took her job very seriously, and I was the happy recipient of her ministrations. It took days of seclusion for me to bury those fucking dreams so deep in my mind that they were impenetrable.

Parkinson and the Greengrass sisters strut into the car, and I start to feel nauseous. I know Tracey and Millicent aren’t coming back this year. Their parents did the sane thing and took them out of the country. If my father has his way, I know I’ll be married to one of these twits within the next two years. I’d rather take an  _ Avada _ to the chest than live my whole life with someone who can only discuss fashion and parties. Somehow, my father doesn’t get that.

Pansy claims the seat beside me, just as she has every single train ride since third year. Her hand settles on my knee, her thumb stroking back and forth over the soft material of my trousers. I need to get away from her. I might snap if I don’t. I check the time on my new watch — a seventeenth birthday gift from my parents — and I see that it’s exactly 11am. Every year, the train has left the station before 11:01. A few seconds later, I feel the familiar jolt that signals the start of our journey.

“I need the loo,” I announce, and Pansy takes her fucking hand off my knee. 

I leave the compartment, covertly looking through every door on the train to make sure  _ she _ isn’t here. About halfway down the line, I find the female Weasley, Loony Lovegood, and Neville Longbottom. If the Golden Trio had boarded the train, they would be in this compartment. I decide to goad their friends a bit just to be sure.

I slide the door open and their heads all whip towards me. “Where’s Potty and the Weasel? And my favourite little Mudblood?”

Longbottom scoffs and Weasley raises her wand, ready to hex me.

“Are you fucking dense, Malfoy? Of course they’re not bloody here! Go ahead and report  _ that _ to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, you vile piece of Death Eater scum,” Longbottom says, obviously not afraid of me anymore.

Lovegood looks at me with her disconcerting eyes, and I feel like she can see straight through me. “I don’t suppose we’ll be seeing much of Hermione, Ron, and Harry this year. When I saw them at William’s wedding, their heads were full of Wrackspurts, but did not seem to cloud their judgment. I can’t imagine the Dark Lord would let them stay safely at school.”

“I don’t suppose he would,” I sneer. What in the actual fuck is a Wrackspurt?

She-Weasley looks at me, puzzled as to why I’m in their compartment in the first place. “Piss off, Malfoy. You’ll have to find someone other than Harry, Ron, or Hermione to torment this year,” she spits, venom in her words.

_ Hermione. Granger. Thank Merlin she’s not here. _

When I arrive back in my compartment, conversation ceases. Daphne and Astoria stop their incessant twittering and I have everyone’s attention again. I don’t want it. For once in my life, I wish they would all just leave me alone. I need to get my mind back in order. Goading the Golden Trio’s friends was a stupid idea — they have Granger’s name playing on a loop in my head.

You’d think this damned  _ crush _ — or whatever the fuck it is — would have gone away after two years. However, my dick and my brain seem to be in agreement — they both want Hermione fucking Granger, and there may even be a third beating organ involved in this mess. I refuse to admit it, though. That body part can just shut the fuck up. I can admire her mind and lust after her body. The majority of Death Eaters would feel the same way but — the second that other bit gets involved — I become a blood traitor. I’m not willing to cross that line.

I lean against the window and close my eyes, the glass cool against my cheek and the train’s motion slowly lulling me to sleep.

* * *

**3 September 1997**

When I’m finished with my lessons for the day, I’m summoned to the Headmaster’s office. I expect to see the Head Girl there — she’s some Ravenclaw bint who’s bloody terrified of me and spends all of her time in Ravenclaw tower — but it’s just Snape. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore sits directly behind him, looking like it hasn’t woken yet. 

When Snape looks up, he gestures for me to sit. He almost looks nervous, and that’s saying something, because it’s very rare that I can read any emotion from him at all. My mind automatically jumps to the Manor and my mother. Father’s wand was destroyed when the Dark Lord used it against Potter, so he really has no way of protecting her.

“What’s happened?” I ask, my voice shaking a bit.

Snape’s obsidian eyes meet mine, and I feel him start trying to probe my mind. I can feel him looking for  _ her _ . I immediately shield myself, but he catches a glimpse of her at a Quidditch match, her curls, her red and gold Gryffindor scarf blowing in the wind, her cheeks flushed as she smiles. The smile isn’t for me, but I know he can feel my desire, that I wish it was for me. He sees a quick flash of my fantasy Granger, but it’s nothing too scandalous.

He lets out a sigh.

“This is what I was afraid of,” Snape begins. “Do you know what would happen if the Dark Lord or your father found out about this?”

“I’m not an idiot,” I snarl. “You caught me off guard. I thought you were going to tell me something had happened to my mother.”

Snape shook his head. “You must always be ready, every time you’re around another Death Eater. Trust no one.”

I wonder if he includes himself in this blanket statement. Why is he warning me about it? Why is he not more disgusted or shocked to see my thoughts of Granger?

“Did you call me here just to see what I think of her, or what?” I snap. 

Snape observes my reactions, and I think he’s internally debating something. After a moment, he makes up his mind.

“Something  _ did _ happen yesterday, but it has nothing to do with your mother. I’m just wondering if you can be trusted,” he obfuscates.

I freeze, knowing it must have something to do with  _ her _ and the two dimwits. Do I want to know? Can I be trusted? He got into my mind, but I can work on keeping my guard up more fully?

“If it has to do with her, I can be trusted,” I say after a long pause. 

“The three of them broke into the Ministry,” he replies, and my heart misses a beat. 

The look of shock on my face must speak volumes. He continues, “They used Polyjuice Potion, but they morphed back before they left. They stole something from Madam Umbridge.”

“What did they take?” I ask, wondering what could be that fucking important. 

“At first glance, it appears they only took Mad-Eye Moody’s magical eye from her office, but I’m willing to bet there was more,” he explains. “Granger is quite talented at the  _ Gemino  _ charm. She likely replicated whatever it was they stole.”

I’m perplexed. Why would Snape want to tell me all of this? Why does it matter if I know or not?

“Yaxley managed to slip inside the former headquarters to the Order of Phoenix. He grabbed her as she was Disapparating. I think they were staying there, and who knows where they’re going to be now,” he elaborates. 

I’m still not sure what he wants from me or why he’s telling me this. It makes no sense at all. Does he really think I’d do something dense like leave school and try to find them? Yeah, I’m sure Potter would welcome Dumbledore’s supposed killer with open fucking arms. As for Granger… after how I’ve treated her through the years, she’d have to be thick to trust me. But this is all a non-issue anyway — I wouldn’t go running about looking for trouble. I wouldn’t put myself, or my mother, in that kind of danger. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

Snape scoffs. “Because I know you’re thinking about her. I know that despite the front you put up, you’d be devastated if something happened to her. I also know that when the time comes, and I have a feeling that it will, you’ll choose to save her rather than yourself.”

I sneer at him. “All I’ve done thus far — taking the Dark Mark, the mission, the raids over the summer — it's all been to keep my family safe. Doing  _ anything _ to protect Granger goes against that in every possible way. I’d be a blood traitor and a dead man walking.”

Snape waves his hand at me, motioning like that’s unimportant. It’s really fucking irritating, the way he’s acting like it would be no big deal if I decide to forsake everything I’ve protected to just to… what? Find her? Be with her? Fuck her? I don’t even know what I actually want when it comes to her.

“Headmaster, I really don’t understand the point of this conversation,” I reply.

“I want you to think, Draco! You need to _ think  _ because, if she’s captured and killed, she’s never coming back. You need to figure out what she means to you. You need to decide now, before it’s too bloody late!” He bellows, losing his cool in a completely uncharacteristic way.

I take a moment to study him, and it suddenly hits me. Severus Snape was once in a similar situation, and he made the wrong choice. 

* * *

**19 September 1997**

It’s  _ her  _ birthday today, and I really hate myself for knowing that. I mean, I know she was the first one to have a birthday in our year, but I don’t even remember Pansy’s birthday and she was my girlfriend for years. As a matter of fact, she still tells everyone that she  _ is _ my girlfriend, despite the fact we haven’t shagged for over a year. It’s not like I had the time last year. Plotting the murder of someone a thousand times more powerful than you takes up a lot of time. She’s tried to initiate sex a few times since we’ve been back, but I haven’t even wanted to touch her.

Since my conversation with Snape, all I can do is  _ think _ . I’m not focusing on anything but trying to sort out this mess inside my head, and people are starting to notice. Blaise specifically. He wants to know what’s on my mind, but I keep telling him to piss off. This school year is already turning out to be a bloody nightmare.

Just as I’m about to stand from the Slytherin table, I hear something unexpected. 

“It’s so fucking  _ weird _ ,” Theo muses. “I mean, I know all the Mudbloods are gone, but I keep expecting the Gryffindor table to burst into song tonight.”

_ Me too, Theo,  _ I think. 

And then I realize I’m not the only Slytherin male who knows it’s her birthday, so maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all. Maybe everyone knows it.


	4. 31 October 1997

It’s been almost two months since Snape pulled me into his office, and I have never hated Hogwarts more than I do right now. And that’s really incredible considering my sixth year.

None of the real professors want to give me the time of day, nevermind passing marks in their classes. The Carrows want me to  _ Crucio _ students in detention, and I have no fucking choice but to do it. If I don’t, they’ll report back to the Dark Lord and who knows what kind of a shitstorm that would start… 

I lie in my bed in the secluded Heads’ dorm, catching and releasing the first Snitch I caught in a Quidditch match. It’s Halloween, and my mind wanders back to first year, when the troll was let into the castle, and  _ she _ was nearly killed by it. I remember that Weasley had made her cry that day. He called her a nightmare and said she didn’t have any friends. 

_ Why the fuck do I remember so many pointless details about her? _

The next year, the Chamber of Secrets was opened, and I said, “You’ll be next, Mudbloods.” And she was. She’s been in the Hospital Wing more times than I can bloody count. There was something around Christmas second year, then she was petrified by the Basilisk. She was a wreck all through third year, taking so many bloody classes and not sleeping. In fourth year, she missed more classes after she got a letter filled with Bubotuber Pus when everyone thought she was dating Potter, and I got her sent there when I enlarged her teeth. I know she ended up there at the end of fifth year, after the Department of Mysteries.

_ Fucking Merlin. It’s ridiculous that I remember all of this shit.  _

How long had I actually been paying attention to her for? And why didn’t I realize it until fourth year? 


	5. 17 November 1997

Since Halloween, my thoughts about  _ her  _ have somehow intensified. I’m spending nearly every waking moment trying to figure out what all these memories and thoughts actually  _ mean _ . Half of the Slytherins are avoiding me because I’ve been in such a foul mood, but I don’t care. It gives me more solitude, more time to think. 

Unfortunately, I’m still expected to torture students. Every time I do, I can’t help but wonder what  _ she _ would think of me for doing this. Would she understand that I don’t have a choice? Would she realize each  _ Crucio _ I cast is slowly killing me from the inside out?

I close my eyes and imagine an all-out battle — Death Eaters against the Order of the Phoenix. We’d all be masked, and the Order members wouldn’t be. I think of Granger specifically. She’d likely be wearing some sort of practical Muggle attire, her extremely girly wand the most feminine thing about her. She’d be lit up from within, that courage and inherent need to do what’s right blazing behind her eyes. Her hair would be tied back, but there would be magic running along it, causing it to break free from the ponytail or whatever style she had it in. 

The older Death Eaters — my father’s generation — would attack her with no hesitation. I imagine myself in my Death Eater robes and mask, standing right in front of her. Could I do it? Could I try to incapacitate her and take her to the Dark Lord?

My stomach turns in disgust at the imagined scenario. There’s no way in Hell I’d be able to turn her over to him. There’s no way in Hell I’d be able to harm her at all.

I keep playing out different scenes in my head — ones where she dies, ones where I die saving her, ones where we both live and the Dark Lord is defeated. That’s a bittersweet thought since I’ll probably be sent to Azkaban, but I’d like to think I’d get out eventually and start over.

Maybe, just maybe, if I do get the opportunity to save her, I will. If I do that, she might think fighting for my release is the right thing to do. If that happens, I’ll tell her everything. I’ll tell her that I know her birthday is the 19th of September, that her favorite color is actually purple, that I know she’s right-handed and, since I’m left-handed, I can imagine sitting to her left and holding hands while we’re both working on assignments in the library. Bloody childish, I know, but I can picture her more clearly in that library than anywhere else.

I make my way to Snape’s office, ready to admit I would save her if given the chance. I’ve never been more nervous in my life. What if this is a mistake? What if my father hears about this? Or the Dark Lord? What if Snape is actually loyal to the Dark Lord?

I could be fucking up so badly right now, but I feel like I might burst at the seams if I don’t talk to  _ someone _ about all of this. Snape must have his doubts about the regime. Otherwise, he would have turned me in straight away. He would have told my father or the Dark Lord. Wouldn’t he?

I give the password to the gargoyle who grants me entrance into his office. I slowly ascend the stairs, still nervous but feeling a little more sure. I’m no longer wavering about  _ Hermione _ . I want to save her. I want to make sure she lives. I will help Potter — even though I still think he’s an overrated twat — if it means she’ll get to live and be free. Potter is certainly more palatable than the Dark Lord.

When I reach the top, the Carrows are in a discussion with Snape. I freeze at the door, not willing to be questioned by those fucking crazies. 

“... I don’t care! You will not continue to torture young children! Do you really want to damage their minds?! They will be of no use to the Dark Lord if they’re braindead!” Snape’s voice booms, clearly at the end of his rope with the situation.

The Headmaster’s proclamation puts me at ease; he clearly didn’t agree with the Cruciatus Curse being used as a punishment. I know I’ve perfected a system so that I don’t seriously hurt the students I’m forced to  _ Crucio _ , but I’m sure there are plenty of others who aren’t as kind. Crabbe and Goyle are excelling at something for the first time, and it’s torturing pre-teens. I’m actually embarrassed to have counted them as friends.

Given the conversation I’ve overheard, I decide it’s safe to interrupt. I knock on the slightly ajar door and Snape’s voice drawls a lazy “Enter.”

“You wanted to see me, Headmaster?” I ask, knowing he is quick-witted enough to go with it.

Snape looks to the Carrows. “I have a meeting about the same subject matter with our Head Boy now. I’m sure Draco will let me know if your more brutal forms of punishment continue. Please keep that in mind. You answer to  _ me.  _ The Dark Lord placed  _ me _ in charge of Hogwarts, not you two.”

They both shake their heads, resigned. I watch as they exit and Snape holds a finger to his lips. He walks over to the inner door, closes it, and casts a  _ Muffliato _ . When he’s seated behind his desk again, his nearly black eyes bore into me. “It’s been a couple of months, Draco. What brings you here?”

“I’ve worked through it all in my head. I think I’d save her,” I reply, much more humbly and quietly than I would normally speak.

He continues staring at me, seriously considering what I’m saying. I’m starting to feel uncomfortable, and I internally debate getting up and walking out. I haven’t mentioned  _ her _ by name so, even if Snape did go to the Dark Lord, I could try to play it off as another girl. Maybe Pansy or Astoria.

He finally cracks and says, “It took you long enough to figure it out. I honestly didn’t think you were that dense, Draco.”

“It’s not exactly an easy decision to make right now!” I snarl. “And even in the best of times, this little… infatuation, or whatever it is, would get me disowned. Do I seem like the type who can live like a Weasley?”

He has the gall to laugh at me. I suppose I am acting a bit like a spoiled child, but some things will never change. My views on Mudbloods — shit, no,  _ Muggle-borns _ — might be shifting, but I like what I like, and I won’t have those things without my current wealth.

I swallow past the lump that is forming in my throat. Nerves and worry are ratcheting my anxiety up. “Have you heard anything more since the Ministry break-in?”

“Nothing incredibly useful. I’ve been trying to determine their location because I have something they need. All I know is that they are inquiring about the state of things here at Hogwarts and the wizarding world in general. Also, Ronald Weasley has left them. It’s just Granger and Potter,” Snape divulges.

My eyes are probably bulging. That fucking Weasel  _ abandoned _ his friends? He abandoned  _ her _ ? Aren’t they supposed to be an item, a great love story? How could he just leave her? In a battle, three wands were better than two, even if one of them was in that wanker’s hand.

“Are you fucking serious?!” I spit out, unable to contain the emotions rolling in my stomach. “Why would he do that?”

Snape shrugs. “She and Potter are just on a glorified camping trip. They have searched for the items they’re looking for in a few different locations. My guess is that they’ve had an argument, and he’s left. Ronald Weasley is not known for his level head.”

I hear a growl of frustration leave my lips; there is so much I want to say, but I know it’s not even worth it. What’s done is done, and I know that she and Potter are the most competent of the Golden Trio. I have to trust that they will be okay.

Even though it makes me sick, I will place my trust in Harry Potter, my childhood enemy, to protect her at all costs,  _ and _ defeat the Dark Lord.

What other choice do I have?


	6. 24 December 1997

I’m back in the fucking Manor and I don’t even know how many rooms are occupied by Death Eaters now. It’s like my father is running a safe shelter for the nastiest human beings he can find on the streets. There are even Snatchers living here and that makes me ill. Fenrir Greyback has taken up residence in the nearby forest and keeps dropping by. He sniffs at my mother in the most vile way, and my father does  _ nothing _ . Nothing to protect the woman he’s been married to for nearly twenty-five years. 

Oh, and Loony Lovegood is now being held in our dungeon with Ollivander. I’m wondering if they’re even being fed, so I decide to sneak down to find out. I know most of the secret passageways in the house and can probably manage it. Loony is  _ her _ friend and — Salazar forbid — if their situations were ever reversed, I’d go down to check on  _ her _ . I can show the strange girl the same kindness. I know that’s what  _ she _ would want me to do.

Once it’s past 10pm, I head to the kitchens and asks the elves to pack me an assortment of food with jugs of water and pumpkin juice. They put everything in a basket, only too happy to help someone who treats them with respect, and I thank them as I shrink it down. When I arrive at the staircase leading to the dungeon, Wormtail is guarding the prisoners.  _ A whole lot of good he’ll do if someone comes to rescue them _ , I think. 

“Wormtail, I’ll take over,” I drawl, putting my usual self-importance into my tone. 

His beady eyes look at me. “But, young Master Malfoy—”

“Just go get something to eat and use the loo or whatever. I can’t sleep so I figured I’d give you a break. Come back in an hour or so,” I command. 

He brightens considerably, and I wonder how long he’s been left here to guard the prisoners on his own.

“Thank you, sir! You are too kind,” he grovels and scurries away.

Once I’m sure the coast is clear, I take the shrunken basket of food and water out of my pocket. 

“Lovegood,” I say, as quietly as possible.

She carefully emerges from the shadowed corner of the dungeons, and she smiles when she sees me there. Her hair, which is normally nearly as light as mine, is already showing signs of not being washed and cared for properly. 

“Hello, Draco,” she says, like we’ve just run into each other in the corridor at Hogwarts, like she’s not being held captive in my home. She has always been an odd sort, but this is a whole new level of weird.

“Have they been feeding you and bringing you water?”

She shrugs. “When they remember, I suppose. I am quite hungry and I think I’m dehydrated.”

Factual. No tones of disdain. Just telling me how she is.

I hand the shrunken basket through the bars and she takes it, eyeing it carefully. I take out my wand, and she flinches. 

“I’m going to resize the basket. We only have an hour, so you’ll have to eat what you want relatively quickly. Make sure Mr. Ollivander eats, as well,” I explain, trying to show her I’m here to help and not hurt her.

She holds the basket out, and I return it to the original size. 

“Mr. Ollivander, Draco’s brought us some food and water,” her airy voice trills. “Do you think you can make it over here safely?”

When I see the wizard who sold me my wand when I was eleven, I’m disgusted with this whole war all over again. He is emaciated and filthy, and his frail body has clearly been tortured repeatedly. I’m even more ashamed to wear this Mark, and that’s really saying something.

He doesn’t acknowledge me; he sits beside Lovegood and they both focus on eating what they can without making themselves sick. I’m lost in my thoughts, sorting through ways I could get them out of there without anyone knowing. I’ve been leaning against the bars, and a small hand squeezes my arm. I startle, but then realize it’s Lovegood. 

“It’s okay, Draco. I don’t think they’ll kill us. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wants Ollivander’s knowledge of wands, and Daddy will likely cave to their demands to save me,” she says.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re stuck here. It’s not right,” I reply, knowing I shouldn’t, but this girl is so fucking strange and kind and she’s here because she’s someone’s daughter.

Just like I was Marked because I’m someone’s son. 

She smiles at me and carries on. “I can see the Wrackspurts around your head. You need to keep a clear mind. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione are captured—”

My head turns sharply in her direction. “What do you mean  _ when _ they are captured?” 

“I think it’s likely, don’t you? I mean, they’re not much older than us. In fact, Harry is younger than you. And he’s never been very good at not using  _ his _ name.”

As she voices the exact thing I’ve been worried about since August, a loud hissing comes from upstairs. I’ve not seen Nagini since returning home, but it sounds like she’s here now. And then I hear the voice of the Dark Lord hissing back at her in Parseltongue.

“Finally! Potter and his Mudblood have gone to Godric’s Hollow!” He booms in English.

Well, fuck. This doesn’t sound good.

“Lucius!” 

I move halfway up the stairs and gesture for Lovegood and Ollivander to move back. I don’t want to take their food, but it wouldn’t be good for anyone to see them there, either. 

My father’s voice comes next. “M-my Lord?”

“I am heading to Godric’s Hollow to kill Potter and retrieve his little Mudblood. Do have a space ready for her when I return,” the Dark Lord hisses.

_ What. The. Fuck. He’s planning to keep her?! He’s planning to hold her here in the Manor?! _

Lovegood walks over to the bars and looks at me with wide, terrified eyes.

“I swear, Draco, I didn’t think it would be now! I’ve always seen Ron with them!”

_ She’s a fucking Seer. She’s seen them captured and brought here. It’s going to happen at some point. _

“Weasley wasn’t with them a month ago,” I whisper, trying to ease her fears.

Tears are streaming down her face. “I’ve seen them brought in with Dean Thomas and a goblin. You’re home when it happens. You need to save them, Draco. You need to do something to make sure Hermione survives.”

“Don’t you mean Potter?” I ask.

“Harry and Ron will be fine. They’re going to hurt Hermione,” she divulges.

“Is this the first vision you’ve had?”

She shakes her head. “It’s been happening since second year. I didn’t start believing them until Cedric Diggory actually died.”

I walk back down the stairs and sit on the stone floor, burying my face in my hands. I can’t even believe this is happening; I chose to come down to check on Loony Lovegood on the night Potter and Granger are spotted in Godric’s Hollow and Voldemort goes rushing off.

Her small hand runs through my hair. Normally, I’d be upset about this, but I know she’s trying to comfort me.

“Maybe this isn’t it,” she whispers. “Maybe it’s another time. That way, you’ll have time to prepare.”

We wait. Wormtail never comes back. He’s likely hiding out upstairs, knowing the Dark Lord will be in a foul mood when he returns. I’m standing now, reinforcing all the Occlumency shields I can possibly build. I need to hide why I want to help her. I need to hope the Dark Lord puts her somewhere I can reach her. Most of all, I am praying Lovegood is right and this is not the day she saw in her vision. The circumstances are all wrong, so I’m counting on the accuracy of a girl who claims she can see creatures that nobody else can.

Moments later, a violent force breaks through the wards. I can feel it in my blood; the Manor wards are tied directly into the blood of every Malfoy. 

Lovegood squeezes my hand and mouths, “Go! Go!”

I ascend the stairs and peek into the drawing room. The Dark Lord is alone. My father is paler than I’ve ever seen him, and no one is daring to speak. I stay hidden, not willing to incur the wrath of this maniac when he doesn’t have  _ her _ with him.

Finally, he speaks. “Harry Potter and that Mudblood escaped before I could reach them! Are you all certain she is actually a Mudblood?”

I silently snicker. Is he serious? She’s got Muggle parents who work on teeth with metal tools. She told everyone about them in first year. 

“My Lord, she comes from Muggle parentage. I could summon Draco—”

Fuck.

“That won’t be necessary, Lucius. Do relay that anyone who captures her and brings her to me, with all of her functionalities intact, will be highly rewarded. With or without Potter.”

“My Lord? What do you plan for her? She is just a Mudblood, after all,” my father inquires.

Fucking idiot. Questioning the Dark Lord never goes well.

“Her mind, Lucius. I plan to use her mind. She has already proven to be highly competent with memory charms and defensive magic. I’ve asked Severus about her competency in Potions, and he has told me she is second only to Draco there,” he muses. “I find brilliance to be useful, especially when it’s kept under lock and key, and at my disposal.”

I move back down towards Lovegood. Her terrified face is blanched and I’m sure my complexion is similar. The Dark Lord seems to have the ability to drain all the blood from the faces of anyone in a five mile radius without doing much of anything. 

“I’ll protect her or I’ll die trying, Luna,” I say, shocking her with the use of her given name. “I won’t let him have her. I...we… I mean  _ we _ , the wizarding world… we all need her. We cannot lose her.”

In that moment, the strange girl smiles brightly at me. “Oh, Draco, that’s wonderful. I’m so glad you’ve figured it out.”

She collects the basket, empty plates and bottles, holding them out. I shakily shrink them again and take the proffered basket through the bars.

“Happy Christmas, Luna. I wish I could do more to make it better for you,” I say.

“Happy Christmas, Draco. We all have our roles to play in this war. I don’t blame you for anything. You brought us a small feast and plenty to keep us hydrated. There isn’t much more I could ask of you.”


	7. 16 January 1998

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quotes in Snape's memory are taken directly from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

As soon as I cross the castle’s threshold, I head to Snape’s office. Mercifully, he is alone this time. 

“I take it your holiday was not wonderful?” He takes one look at me and sighs.

I slump in the chair across from his — perfect pureblood posture be damned. “I take it you heard about what happened on Christmas Eve?”

“Obviously,” he drawls. “I am surprised that you did, though.”

I tell him about my excursion to feed Lovegood, but I don’t tell him about her visions. I don’t want to put her in any more danger than she’s already in. I know I can trust Snape, but I don’t know his feelings about protecting her. The less people that know she’s a Seer, the better. I don’t want anyone else knowing that Potter, Weasley, and Granger will be hauled unceremoniously to the Manor in the somewhat near future. That would give them time and opportunity to plan, and I can’t risk it. I need to keep any advantages that come my way. And knowing it’s going to happen is the biggest one I could possibly have.

“He wants her. He wants to keep her for her brilliance and who knows what else,” I complain, knowing it sounds like I’m whining.

Snape raises his dark eyebrows. “Well, anyone would want to keep her around for her brains, Draco. Isn’t that a good thing? He doesn’t want to kill her…”

His voice trails off and his eyes grow distant. The woman he’s referenced before must have been killed by the Dark Lord, I realise. I knew she’d died, but I didn’t know how. I now understand why he was so insistent when he first talked to me.

“It doesn’t matter,” I begin, “he won’t be getting his hands on her. I will find a way to get to her first.”

Snape does something strange. He opens a cabinet and levitates the Pensieve out. He holds his wand to his temple and withdraws a memory, gesturing for me to go and watch it.

_ Snape is in his office, standing to organise his bookshelves. One of the paintings behind him calls out “Headmaster! They are camping in the Forest of Dean! The Mudblood—” _

_ “Do not use that word!” _

_ “—the Granger girl, then, mentioned the place as she opened her bag and I heard her!” _

_ “Good. Very good! Now, Severus, the sword! Do not forget that it must be taken under conditions of need and valor — and he must not know that you give it! If Voldemort should read Harry’s mind and see for acting for him—” Dumbledore’s portrait instructs. _

_ “I know… you still aren’t going to tell me why it’s so important to give Potter the sword?” Snape interrupts while clearly getting ready to travel to this forest. _

_ “No, I don’t think so. He will know what to do with it. And Severus, be very careful, they may not take very kindly to your appearance after George Weasley’s mishap—” Dumbledore replies before being cut off again. _

_ “Don’t worry, Dumbledore. I have a plan…” Snape answers as he’s leaving the office, Sword of Gryffindor tucked into his travelling cloak. _

_ The memory shifts, and Snape is in a forest. The Forest of Dean, I assume. I’m waiting impatiently… hoping I get to see her. _

_ Snape walks around, making more noise than is wise in my opinion. He’s not supposed to be seen, and he’s done nothing to conceal his identity. I can tell he’s feeling around for protective wards and, finally, he finds what he’s looking for. After a few moments, he finds a small pond that is frozen over. He purposefully cracks the ice and drops the sword in. _

_ “Lumos,” he mutters, and the sword glints through the water. Seemingly satisfied, he moves to an area sheltered by trees. “Expecto Patronum!” _

_ A silver doe erupts from his wand, temporarily astounding me. I’ve always been told anyone who bears the Dark Mark cannot perform this spell. _

_ He guides the doe back to the area where he had felt the wards and, after a short time, Potter shows himself. Bloody idiot, following an unknown magical doe out into the open. Granger is going to maim him when she finds out.  _

_ The doe leads Potter to the lake and then vanishes. He notices the sword at the bottom and tries to summon it. It seems like he’s thinking of other possibilities, then he gives up and strips down to his shorts.  _

_ When he places the wand down on the ground, I realize it’s Granger’s and not his own. How strange. I idly wonder what happened to his. _

_ He’s got a huge hideous necklace around his neck, and it doesn’t seem like something Potter would ever wear. However, he leaves it on and readies himself to jump in. Snape scowls and I glance in the direction he’s looking in. Ron Weasley has appeared and he’s just noticed Potter getting ready to jump into the water. _

_ Once Potter’s in, I figure he’ll be just a few seconds. The water didn’t look terribly deep. However, a minute passes and he’s still not up. Weasley appears to be thinking along the same lines, and jumps in after him, hauling Potter out of the water — sword in hand — and gasping, “Are you mental?!” _

_ A moment passes, and then the redheaded wanker continues, “Why the hell didn’t you take this thing off before you jumped?” _

_ Ah, so that necklace  _ is _ something significant. It seemed so out of place. _

_ Potter and Weasley go back and forth about who cast the doe, then they talk and make up. This is the first time Weasley’s encountered them again since he left.  _

_ I think about that for a moment. It only lends support to Lovegood’s vision. The Golden Trio is back together, so the probability of them being caught and brought to Malfoy Manor has just increased. _

_ Potter takes the necklace over to a rock and lays it down, beckoning Weasley to follow with the sword. Potter convinces Weasley he should do it, speaking in Parseltongue to open the locket, and a young man with dark hair appears. He starts insulting Weasley, telling him he’s seen his dreams and his fears. Projections of Potter and Hermione join, insulting Weasley, telling him they were better off without him. The two projections embrace and I feel just as sick as Weasley looks. Potter screams for Weasley to stab the locket and, finally, he does. _

_ I watch, feeling incredibly creepy, as Potter comforts Weasley. He tells him that Hermione cried for a week after he left. Potter says he loves her like a sister, nothing more. That makes me happy, though the comment about her crying for a week after Weasley left makes my heart stop.  _

_ I know we Slytherins have all joked about it, but I don’t want them to end up together. I couldn’t bear it. Not that she would ever end up with me. I suppose I’ll have to either come up with a way to win her affections or just let her go…  _

_ The two Gryffindors walk back towards the clearing the doe had lured Potter from. As soon as they’re there, Potter takes the wards down for a moment. Granger rushes out from a small tent, her hair flying wildly. She doesn’t have a wand and looks panicked, but she’s unharmed. The glare she shoots at Potter rivals one of a mother scolding a naughty child. _

_ “You took our wards down, Harry! Give me my wand or put them back up before somebody else we don’t want to see finds us!” She snarls. _

_ And then they’re all gone from view. _

“So, as you can see, she is alive and mostly well. I know they’ve all lost weight, but they’re surviving,” Snape says as I step out of the Pensieve.

“And I see the Weasel has returned.”

He nods. “It was to be expected. He couldn’t go home or back to Hogwarts. Everyone would be disappointed in him, and he’s already got enough of an inferiority complex. He wouldn’t be able to handle it. I’m just not sure how he found them.”

I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “You really don’t know what they’re looking for?”

“Whatever it is, I know that it is vital to defeating the Dark Lord. Albus left them with the mission. Although, why it had to be those three dunderheads, however, Merlin only knows,” Snape gripes. 

He stands abruptly and starts pacing. He’s clearly agitated, and I’m not really sure why. I look up at Dumbledore’s portrait and I see a concerned look on his face as well. Shame courses through me; this has to be one of the worst things about the wizarding world — I never thought I’d have to be around a sentient Dumbledore again. 

“Severus, I’ve told you a hundred times or more now. It  _ has _ to be Harry. He felt most comfortable with Hermione and Ron. She would have had to go into hiding either way, so why not have the brilliant girl with him?” 

I scoff at the portrait. “Keeping her with Potter only puts her in even more danger. If they’re all captured and killed together, will no one else be able to finish the Dark Lord?”

“Mr. Malfoy, Hermione Granger would not be content abandoning her friends and going into hiding somewhere. I’m sure you know that,” he replies.

Internally, I do know that. However, I don’t agree with using teenagers to fight one of the most powerful dark wizards of all time. Their skill set and knowledge is far too limited; Granger didn’t even know magic existed until six and a half years ago. I mean, I know she’s brilliant and has probably read and practised anything she’s gotten her hands on, but she will  _ never  _ be on Voldemort’s level. Simply because she will never let herself. 

Go dark, go evil, go to a point of no return for power.

Snape whips around. “I could have gone with him! Or Remus… one of the elder Weasleys!”

“You are needed here, Severus! Can you imagine what this place would become if left to the Carrows? It’s not like Voldemort would be content with Minerva and Filius running the school!”

I can tell this is an argument they’ve had before, probably multiple times. I observe them going back and forth. Maybe Dumbledore will let something slip. I don’t want it to be missed, and Snape is growing even more agitated as time goes on.

If there is anything, any little shred of information I can use to my advantage, I’ll gladly take it. Helping Potter will help  _ her _ in the long run, and I need to feel like I’m doing something.

Finally, the argument ceases. Dumbledore stares down his nose at us. “You both need to be careful. You need to remain at Voldemort’s side until the very end.”

“Don’t you think we know that?!” Snape sneers, and I just nod.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m glad to see your views have changed,” Dumbledore says before exiting his portrait.

Have they, though? They’ve changed in regards to  _ her  _ mostly. I don’t know if that same courtesy extends to all Muggle-borns. I don’t think they all deserve to die, but I do think magic from the old families is more… I can’t even think of the word. I think of the Malfoy library, of all the magical knowledge our family has amassed over the centuries. That has to count for something — it must help us to understand our magic better, right?

I stop my inner musings; the merits of blood status can be internally debated later. Right now, I’m here to talk to Snape.

“Is that portrait keeping you up-to-date with their location?” I ask.

“No. That is the only time Ms. Granger has let their location slip,” Snape responds. “He lets me know that he’s talked to them and that they’re well pretty regularly. His other portrait is packed in her handbag.”

I grit my teeth. I just want to know where they are. Someone needs to tell Potter to watch his mouth, to  _ not _ utter the Dark Lord’s name. If they’re caught, I’m sure that will be why.

I guess, for now, I’m stuck in a holding pattern. I’m just waiting for the Easter holidays since I won’t return to the Manor before then. I sit and try to think of a way to help when it does inevitably happen; I wish Lovegood had told me who was present for the whole debacle. I’m assuming my immediate family, and she didn’t mention the Dark Lord being there. I hope that means he’ll be away. 

  
It will make helping  _ her _ much easier.


	8. 31 March 1998

The day has finally come. I’ve been thinking about this day for three whole months, and I can hear the commotion in the foyer. I can hear my parents talking to the Snatchers. They’re debating whether or not to call the Dark Lord; they want to be sure they have Potter before they summon him back from wherever he is tonight. My hands start to shake. I haven’t seen her since that night on the Astronomy Tower and, even though she has no fucking clue about how I feel, I know she’ll meet my eyes and plead. 

Will I be able to withstand it? Can I say no to her brown eyes when they beg me to help her? Can I stay in this Death Eater role long enough to save her?

There is no more time to think, no more time to contemplate how I feel about her. There is no more time for anything. I know my mother or father will come to get me soon. I count slowly as I walk back towards my bedroom and get my breathing under control. Next, I start protecting my mind. When I feel it’s as fortified as possible, I mentally catalogue who I’ve seen in the Manor today.

Yaxley and Dolohov, but I’m sure they left after dinner. Nott Sr. Crabbe Sr. Selwyn. Bellatrix. Rodolphus. 

The Lestranges essentially live here now. I pray they’re too busy fucking to come to the main floor of the house. Normally, they’re extremely inconsiderate and don’t even put up a Silencing Charm. Apparently years in Azkaban made them oblivious to common courtesy.

I’m praying my father keeps this quiet. If no other Death Eaters know, it will be so much easier to get the Golden Trio out of the Manor. I sit in the armchair near my fireplace and pick up a book. I’m not reading — all I can do is stare blankly at the page and try to regulate my racing heart. 

_ She  _ is here.  _ She  _ is about to be hurt in some way.  _ She _ is the only thing I can think about. I must get to  _ her _ . I cannot lose  _ her _ .

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, an elf comes to get me. I am brought to the drawing room, and it’s just as Lovegood had Seen it. Potter, Weasley, Thomas, a goblin, and  _ her _ . It seems Luna’s not completely loony after all.

Potter’s face is all swollen; he’s clearly been hit with a hex or jinx. Weasley gives me a hard stare, and Thomas looks frightened. When I finally get to  _ her _ , it’s just as I imagined — her wide brown eyes are pleading with me. They’re trying to get me to help, to save her. 

And then I remember this is Hermione Granger. Allowing myself to think her name throws the situation into sharp contrast. She’s not looking for me to save her. She wants me to save Potter so that he can go on to save the world.

But doesn’t she know he’ll never be able to do it without her?

If Potter loses either of his best pals tonight, he will blame himself and likely turn himself over to the Dark Lord because sometimes he’s as thick as a troll. I need to get them  _ all _ out of here, and I’ll make them take Luna and Ollivander if I can. Clear out the Manor’s prisoners in one fell swoop.

I refocus, and my parents are badgering me, asking me if this is Harry Potter. My father throws in that all will be forgiven by the Dark Lord if we are the ones to hand Potter over to him. I do the only thing I can in this situation — I lie. I lie and say I can’t tell for sure if it’s Potter because of the way his face is all swollen. I keep trying to buy myself time. 

This is looking more and more hopeless with every passing second. I will have to actively revolt and get them out of here myself. And then, to my horror, Greyback says, “What about the Mudblood?”

My mother has seen Hermione Granger twice, the last time was in Madam Malkin’s well over a year ago. However, one look and a smile spreads across her face.

Fuck.

“Yes, Draco! Come and see! This is Granger, right? I recognize her from the robe shop last year!” She exclaims, like she’s just found a pair of dragonhide pumps at half price.

I have no choice. I have to agree. Granger glares at me, and she mouths the word  _ coward _ . I want to beg her for forgiveness, want to promise I’ll get them out of here. I want to swear to her I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe. It was just going to be too suspicious if I told my mother she was wrong, especially with someone who’s clearly a Weasley and another scarred teenager with messy black hair and emerald eyes in her company. 

I try to silently convey an apology with my eyes, but she looks disgusted. Her internal fire is roaring, burning so brightly it could probably blind me. I secretly think this is a good thing; she will need that fire to survive whatever ordeal is coming her way.

And then my father is preparing to call the Dark Lord. I’m ready to stop him, to tell him we should wait until Potter’s face is normal again before risking our lives. However, like the world’s biggest blessing and most heinous curse all at once, Bellatrix bursts into the room. When she sees the sword one of the Snatchers is holding, she stops my father immediately.

To my horror, she cuts Hermione free of the tethered group of prisoners and sends the rest down to the dungeon. Weasley is wailing, screaming for  _ Hermione _ . Her name is being repeated over and over, like a horrible song that someone keeps replaying. Except it’s worse because, even when I’ve been alone, I don’t think I’ve ever said it, let alone screamed it in desperation. Or in pleasure. Or even in anger. 

I’ve barely allowed myself to think it over the past year. She’s always Granger, or something even less personal. I’ve had to keep it that way, but it feels so bloody wrong now that Weasley keeps bellowing it over and over. For some reason, I am fixated on this one point, and it’s something that doesn’t even fucking matter. Weasley’s likely said her name thousands of times over the years — in desperation, in anger, in happiness, and sadness. Maybe even in pleasure.

That thought twists my insides, but then  _ Hermione _ starts screaming. I snap out of my inner turmoil and see her being  _ Crucio’d _ under Bellatrix’s unyielding wand.

“Stop!” I scream, and my aunt is so shocked by my outburst that she actually does stop.

All eyes turn to me, including Hermione’s big brown ones. She’s grateful, I can tell. My mind quickly kicks into gear.

“You can’t subject her to  _ Crucios _ , Aunt Bella. The Dark Lord wants her mind intact!”

Everyone in the room looks at me, and then realization dawns on their faces. They know I’m right. Hermione looks terrified now. I suppose I would be terrified as well if someone had just casually mentioned that the Dark Lord wanted me held and my mind kept intact. She has no idea what he wants from her, or to what lengths he’ll go to have it. Honestly, I don’t really know either. 

Father nods his head approvingly. “Good thinking, Draco. He will be pleased you put his wishes first. However, we need to know how they came to be in possession of that sword.”

Granger looks at me, hoping I have a plan. I don’t. I really fucking don’t. How else would a Death Eater get the little swot to talk? Every possibility that flies through my mind is absolutely vile, and I won’t subject her to it. Not from me, not from Bella, not from my father. 

My mother speaks up. “Can we try the Weasley boy instead? He may be easier to break than she is.”

“No!” Granger cries. “No, please don’t hurt him! I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Jealousy wraps around me like an oversized traveling cloak. Of course she’d do anything to protect him. She loves  _ him _ . Even though Weasley is an unworthy wanker who has made her cry on numerous occasions. I know I’ve made her cry, but at least I wasn’t supposed to be her friend at the time. 

“Oh, it seems the wittle Muddy-blood girl has a boyfwiend,” Bella screeches in her ridiculous baby talk. “Here to muddy up some more pure bloodlines? You filthy little Muggle slag!”

My lunatic aunt sends a Slicing Hex at Granger. A gash forms on her cheek and she gasps, bringing a hand up to cover it. I see a tear leak from her eye and I want to run to her. I want to shield her and protect her.

But I know I can’t. Not yet. I have to try to wait this out. I have to hope that Potter has some kind of contingency plan to get them out of this mess. An illegal portkey, a bloody time-turner… anything!

“Now, now, Bella!” My father scolds. “Don’t damage the Dark Lord’s new toy. I’m sure he’d much prefer a blank canvas to work on.”

My mother quickly casts a  _ Stupefy _ and Bella falls to the ground, never seeing the stunner coming from her sister’s wand. I look to my mother and she says, “That will keep her down until we can figure out what to do. She’s too bloody impulsive! We need a plan!”

Weasley is still screaming himself hoarse. I hope Potter gets him under control soon. 

I can see Granger start to tremble. The thought of the Dark Lord, or maybe the thought of the Malfoys coming up with a plan, is sending her into a panic attack. I stride over to her and get her on her feet once more, hoping it’s innocuous enough. I’m putting myself between her and the rest of my family. I look directly into her eyes, begging her to trust me, and she gives a tiny nod of understanding.

“ _ Incarcerous _ ,” I snarl, binding her hands together.

I grab her chin roughly, turning her head to examine the cut on her cheek. I cast a non-verbal numbing charm, and she lets out a nearly inaudible sigh. 

“Father, do you think I should heal this so the Dark Lord doesn’t see it? He said he wanted her unharmed,” I ask in an unaffected tone, like her pain — her fear and humiliation — don’t bother me a bit.

My father shrugs. “If you want to waste your energy healing that filth, that’s your choice. I’m sure he won’t care about a gash on her cheek.”

Hermione visibly stiffens, and I suddenly realise that this is the first time I’ve ever been this close to her, that I’ve ever touched her in any way. I know all of this is a charade, an act to buy Potter time, but I’m grateful I get this chance, probably my only chance, to stand this close and touch her.

Merlin, that sounds way creepier than I mean it to.

I raise my wand to her cheek and she flinches, though I’m not sure if she’s actually afraid of me or if she’s just acting. I heal the slice, and her skin is nearly perfect again. It’s a little red around the cut, but I know that’s to be expected. 

I turn to face my father, grabbing the ties that bind her hands to spin her with me. My hand slips and ends up on her forearm. She doesn’t protest, so I don’t move it. Instead, I stroke my thumb along the underside of her wrist. Goosebumps erupt on her skin, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. The gesture is meant to soothe her, nothing more. 

I’m ready to turn and block anything that’s fired at her. I’m ready to protect her.

“How far away was he traveling, Father?” I ask, trying to figure out some sort of timeline for when he’s eventually summoned back to the Manor. 

My father shakes his head. He is too far out of favour to know, but he won’t admit that in front of Granger. 

“Granger, where did you lot get the sword?” I ask, hoping she’ll give me some sort of an answer.

She bites her lip and then turns as much as she can. She won’t look at my father, and I find that strange. She’s usually so defiant. She cranes her neck to look up at me and says, “Oh, fuck off, Malfoy!”

She stomps on my foot as hard as she can, but I don’t let go. I hold on to her, pulling her closer to my body.

“I can bind your legs as well, Granger!” I shout, and she continues to struggle. I catch her eye and she winks. Ah, she’s putting on a show, and she wants me to play along. “Hold fucking still or I swear to Merlin I will put you in a Full Body Bind!”

She freezes and glares up at me. “You wouldn’t dare, Malfoy.”

“Are you forgetting you have no wand, Granger?” I purr, and then I realize I should probably insert some more acid into my tone. “You are completely at my mercy, you stupid bint!”

She continues to struggle so I wrap both of my arms around her, pulling her flush against me. It’s a morbid embrace, but I think I hear her inhale deeply, her breath hitching. She’s so slender that I can keep her in place with one of my arms looped around her from waist to hip.

I mutter a Sticking Charm, and she can no longer lift her feet. I step back, not able to keep feeling her writhing body rubbing against mine. Even though I think she’s acting, I worry that she’s not. I don’t want her to feel like I’m taking advantage of the situation, especially if something… inappropriate happens from her rubbing her arse into my groin.

Once she realizes she’s stuck to the floor, she lets out a frustrated growl. “You bastard! Let me go!”

“Oh, Ms. Granger, Draco is not a bastard. Unlike you, he comes from centuries of perfectly paired bloodlines,” my father drawls, reminding me that I need to get on with it.

She scoffs, and I walk around to stand in front of her, my back to my parents. I mouth,  _ are you okay _ ? Her lips quirk up into a small smile since she knows she’s shielded and she nods once.  _ Thank you _ , she replies, and I know this horrible moment has the potential to change things between us. Maybe we won’t be enemies for much longer.

“The sword, Granger… Where did you get that bloody sword?” I resume my questioning.

She glares at me and I hear my father stepping closer. “I wonder, Ms. Granger, if you’d prefer we Floo-call Severus. I’m sure he has some Veritaserum on hand.”

“I’m sure your lot has already used up whatever Veritaserum he had. The Dark Lord probably wouldn’t be smart enough to save it for emergencies,” she spits.

I nearly laugh. No, when Voldemort wants answers, he just kills and tortures for them. He wouldn’t take the time to use Veritaserum unless it  _ was _ an emergency. In fact, I bet he  _ would _ use it on her since it’s the best bet for keeping her mind intact.

“Just make this easier on yourself, Granger. As soon as Bella wakes up, she’ll be spitting mad and ready to carve into you with her cursed blade,” I drawl, as if I’m not fucking terrified that Bella actually  _ will _ cut her up.

She looks straight at me, and I think she can tell I’m being serious. It looks like she remembers something, and she says, “It’s a fake. A replica.”

My father retrieves the sword, and he examines the blade. I look at it, as well. “That’s a likely story,” he says. “Luckily, we have a goblin here who can verify it. If this is a replica, it’s the best I’ve ever seen. Gryffindor’s name is even etched into it with no surrounding damage. It would have to also be goblin-made.”

She blanches. I wish she had a stronger poker face.

“Draco, go down and grab the goblin. I will ensure Ms. Granger stays put,” Father commands.

Reluctantly, I head towards the stairs. I walk down, telling everyone to move back against the wall. I illuminate my face and meet Potter’s eyes.  _ Hurry up _ , I mouth, hoping he has something in the works.  _ We’re going to need help _ .

He looks over at Lovegood and she nods. They’ve clearly been discussing my promise to her, that I’d keep Hermione safe. He quietly says, “Thank you, Malfoy.”

The goblin comes with me, and I hope Potter has gotten him on our side. He’s the crux of this lie; if he throws Granger under the bus, my father will find a way to get Veritaserum.

When we are back in the drawing room, the goblin walks over to my father, holding out his hands. Bellatrix is starting to wake, but I don’t think it would be good for my future health to stun her again. 

“Cissy! How could you Stun me?” She pouts. “I wasn’t going to really hurt her.”

She summons her wand and gets to her feet, watching the goblin examine the sword.

_ Fuck, he’s really drawing this out. What is taking so long? _

Bellatrix breaks the tense silence, her voice angry and grating. “Well? Is it the one that is supposed to be in my vault at Gringotts?”

“It is not. It is a fake. Likely a  _ Gemino _ -made version,” the goblin replies.

Before I can react, my father summons the Dark Lord, and Granger looks like she might be happier if I just  _ Avada _ her right now. I don’t know what to do; I cannot stall any longer. He’s already on his way.

Bella strides towards Granger and slaps her across the face. “You ignorant little Mudblood! You could have just told me that from the beginning! Now you’ve delayed our reward!”

She slaps her again and I step in. “Bella, don’t make us  _ Stupefy _ you again! The Dark Lord was very clear. She was not to be harmed! Do you want to face his displeasure?”

She takes a step back, and I put myself between her and Granger. I’m starting to realize my mother’s been silent for a long time. I glance over, checking to make sure she’s okay, and she’s got tears in her eyes. I try not to think about why she’s so upset. She’s seen worse things with the Dark Lord under her roof. Nothing particularly distasteful has happened tonight.

A loud crack breaks through the relative quiet of the Manor, and it sounds like it originated down in the dungeons. My father stiffens, clearly assuming the worst. “Wormtail!” He bellows, and the short, squat man comes out from a corridor. “I knew you’d be lurking around! Go check on our guests!”

He scurries, much like the rat he is, down to the dungeon. My aunt is glaring at me. I know I’ve taken away her plaything for the evening, but I will  _ not _ let her torture Granger in front of me. I know that’s how things were supposed to happen, and it’s likely they would have happened if Luna had not told me about her vision. Since I’ve had time to think about it, to somewhat formulate a plan, I can’t just stand by and watch. I’ve thought about the guilt and shame that would go along with that version of events. 

If I let her be harmed, how could I ever look into her big brown eyes and tell her I care for her? 

She would never believe me.

Instead of Pettigrew, Potter and Weasley rush up the stairs. Weasley’s got a wand, likely Wormtail’s, and he disarms Bellatrix. Potter grabs her wand. I quickly mutter the counter-charm to release Hermione, and she must feel her feet release, but she doesn’t move.

Bellatrix moves with a supernatural speed and wraps her arms around Hermione, holding her in place once more. However, this time, she has a blade held to her throat. Potter and Weasley quickly surrender, dropping their stolen wands to the floor. My aunt shrieks at me to pick them up, and I do. My mind starts racing again.  _ How the fuck am I going to get them out of this one?! Just when I had thought she was safe, that they would escape…  _

I don’t think Bella would dare kill Hermione when the Dark Lord wants her so badly, but she’s also fucking insane, so who knows what could happen! The crazy bitch calls for Greyback and all of my blood starts to boil. The werewolf?! The fucking werewolf?!

Before he has a chance to reach her, the heavy crystal chandelier falls from the ceiling, crashing down on Bella and Hermione. My aunt is able to get up quickly — she must have moved at the last second. Potter wrenches all of the wands from my hands, mine included, and Weasley scoops Hermione out of the wreckage. They grab the goblin and leave the Manor with our old house-elf.

We all stand around, just looking at each other. 

“So,” I say, trying to break the terrified silence, “what do you think he’ll do to us now?”

My father shakes his head, his eyes wide and terrified.

Bellatrix cries out for Greyback again. “Wands, you filthy werewolf! We need the wands you took from all of them!”

Like a faithful dog, Greyback brings in a whole pouch of wands. I know exactly what I’m looking for, though. I take two — one that’s rather plain and will suit for everyday use and then  _ hers _ . I need to take this for her. I try to make it look casual, like I’m just taking any two out of the pile.

My mother raises an eyebrow at me. “It makes sense to have a spare in these times,” I reply.

“That’ll cost you, young Master Malfoy,” Greyback snarls.

I roll my eyes at him. “You know I can afford it.”


	9. 1 April 1998

When the Dark Lord arrives, I’ve already stowed the two wands in my bedroom. I’ll admit to him that Potter snatched mine. I’m already going to be in a world of shit, but at least  _ she _ is okay. I let myself lapse into calling her by her name while she was here, and now I need to readjust. I work on reinforcing my shields, guarding my mind, tamping down all of the emotions I was feeling less than half an hour ago. 

When we feel him crash through the wards, we all drop to our knees. Bellatrix looks like she’d rather  _ Avada  _ herself than have this conversation with Voldemort. When he sees our kneeling poses with hung heads, he lets out a burst of magic that renders all of us unconscious.

When I wake up, I’m being attended to by one of the house-elves. I’m lying on my stomach and I can feel the broken slices of flesh across my back. I’m in so much pain that I cannot think of anything else. 

The little elf shrieks. “Young master! You is awake! Thank Morgana!”

“How is everyone else?” I ask, worried for my parents.

She hesitates, and I know I’m not going to like the response. “Master Malfoy is a little worse than you. He is not woken up yet.”

“And my Mother?” 

“She is awake, but she is not well. She be crying a lot and will not let anyone near her.”

“Do you think I can get up and go to her?” I ask, although I’m just trying to be polite. Of course I’m going to get up and go to her.

“Just lets me finish the potions and wrapping, young master!”

A few minutes later, I’m limping to my mother’s sitting room. She’s on the couch, surrounded by crumpled tissues and family photos. I knock the slightly ajar door, and she looks up at me.

“Draco!” She cries, getting to her feet. “Come in and close the door!”

I Silence the room and limp towards her. She puts a hand up. “Don’t. We need to talk about the Granger girl, and we need to do it before your father wakes up.”

I swallow hard, knowing this conversation will be unpleasant at best. I should’ve known when I saw she had tears in her eyes in the drawing room and when she noticed the ‘spare’ wand I chose. I meet her eyes — I have to look down now, rather than up, since I’ve grown taller — and she’s crying again.

“When did this all start?”

How do I do this? How do I tell my mother that I’ve been obsessing over the little bookworm all year?

“I started noticing her in a more positive way fourth year,” I blurt out, not really wanting to overthink this and craft a series of lies I won’t be able to keep straight. “But it’s gotten a lot worse this year. I’m always thinking about her, and I’m usually worried sick.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed, Draco?! Do you know what would happen if your father or Bella or, Merlin forbid, the Dark Lord found out about this… ill-fated obsession?” 

Of course I fucking know. Does she think I want this? That I want to risk my life by having feelings for someone who feels nothing but indifference, or maybe even hate, towards me?

“Mother, I’m not trying to get myself killed. I’ve been fighting this for two whole years, and it’s all coming crashing down around me!”

She covers her face with her hands. “He will disown you, Draco. He will send you from the Manor and you’ll never be allowed back.”

“If we all survive this war, it’ll be a bloody miracle! Can we just… not worry about this until then? It’s not like I’m going to be courting anyone any time soon,” I plead, not wanting to continue this conversation.

I know my father will disown me. I know he won’t approve of a relationship between a Muggle-born and his precious pureblood heir.

I also know Granger would never want to be with me. I’m a Death Eater, her childhood tormentor, her natural enemy.

But I’m also the one who stopped her torture. I’m the one who will give her back her wand. I’m the one who will tell her just how amazing I think she is, if I ever get the chance.

My mother nods, and she wandlessly sends all of the photos back into some sort of keepsake box. I had assumed they were pictures of our little three person family, but then I spot the small label on the side of it.

  
Andromeda.


	10. 1 May 1998

I’m summoned to Snape’s office again. I’m nearly running, trying to get there as quickly as possible. I don’t want anyone to see me. I don’t know why, but I feel like everything is about to change. It’s been about six weeks since the Golden Trio escaped the Manor, and I’d be willing to bet anything that they’ve somehow gotten themselves into trouble again. It’s just who they fucking are.

When I reach the top of the stairs and enter the headmaster’s office, he’s pacing furiously. I’ve never seen him look quite so frightening. He waves his hand and the door slams.

“They broke into the Lestrange vault at Gringotts. Your little  _ girlfriend _ was Polyjuiced as Bellatrix! She must have picked up a stray hair while she was at Malfoy Manor. The Dark Lord is ready to murder everyone in Britain to find her,” he snaps.

What. The. Fuck. She truly is going insane! How the fuck could she possibly think breaking into Gringotts was a sound idea?!

“How did they get out?” I ask, genuinely wanting to know.

Snape laughs, a dark maniacal sound. “On the back of a fucking dragon. She, Potter, and Weasley rode out on the dragon that’s kept below ground to guard the high security vaults!”

A dragon. She stole a dragon. I know it was her; Potter and Weasley likely wouldn’t have thought of it. I’m guessing none of them had considered bringing a damn broomstick before breaking into the bowels of the wizarding bank! That would just make too much sense for the Golden Trio to even consider it.

Snape sighs, “The Dark Lord is convinced that Potter, Weasley, and Granger will be coming here tonight. I need you to patrol and watch for them. I know that Potter will likely be out for our blood, but I think most of his rage will be directed at me.”

“I can do that,” I reply. “I’m glad they’re alive and kicking after the Manor. Potter has my wand, so I’d like to find him anyway.”

Snape nods. “Whatever they need, Draco, give it to them. I think tonight will be the last stand. The castle will be swarmed with Death Eaters very soon.”

I look at my watch. It’s nearly dinnertime, but I can’t even stomach the idea of food. I don’t even know how they could possibly get into the castle. Hogsmeade has a curfew with a Caterwauling Charm, and the gates to Hogwarts are sealed. Most of the secret passageways are known and sealed off. I truly hope they don’t do something foolish like Apparate directly into Hogsmeade.

  
  


A few hours later, I’m patrolling the corridors. The Carrows are stationed at Ravenclaw Tower, though I’m not sure why. I just want to know why the fuck the Golden Trio would do something as stupid as coming to Hogwarts, especially if the Dark Lord is expecting them to do it. I pace through the halls, pausing occasionally to look out the window. I’m scanning for any movement on the grounds. So far, there’s been nothing.

All of a sudden, a silver doe rushes to me in the hallway. It looks around, like it’s making sure we’re alone. We’re in the corridor that houses the Room of Requirement, and it’s past curfew, so there is no one else around. 

Snape’s voice comes out through the mouth of the doe. “The charm has just been set off in Hogsmeade. Aberforth Dumbledore says he’s the one who did it, but I’m sure he’s just taken them in. They are coming.”

Fuck.

With the way students have been disappearing all year, like Longbottom and most of the other Gryffindors, we know there’s a way in and out of the castle. Could it be through the Hog’s Head? I’d imagine Dumbledore would visit his brother from time to time… 

I cast a Disillusionment Charm over myself. I don’t want Potter to see me and hex me on the spot. After what happened at the Manor, I’d like to think that  _ she _ would stop him, but I am technically a Death Eater. She may not be so quick to let her guard down.

I keep walking down the corridor to the end. I turn around, ready to retrace my steps, and freeze. Some little Gryffindor bloke has just gone into the Room of Requirement. I’d bet my inheritance on Potter somehow getting in through that room, which means  _ she _ will eventually come out of it, as well. 

I wait for what seems like an eternity, and then the door opens. It looks like no one has come out. Someone must be disillusioned or using an invisibility cloak. I pray it’s not Granger because I plan on following her all fucking night. There’s no way in hell I’m letting her die in some harebrained scheme. 

A short while later, she comes out with Weasley and they head for the stairs. I follow, trying not to make noise, but she must hear something because she turns around and looks straight through me. She looks exhausted and stressed, but healthier than she did at the Manor. She’s put a few necessary pounds back on. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail but, as usual, her curls are escaping from it. Her eyes are dark and curious as she scans the hallway. 

“Harry?” She whispers, and I know it was Potter who had come out before them.

After a moment, Weasley grabs her arm and pulls her along. “C’mon, Hermione! Well find him later. We’ve got to get down to the Chamber of Secrets fast!”

_ What the fuck?! The bloody Chamber of Secrets? He wants to take a Muggle-born witch down to the Chamber of Secrets when Voldemort is coming to Hogwarts? Is he insane?!  _

She goes with him, and I know I can’t stop them right now. Fucking Gryffindor gits with a mission straight from Saint Scarhead. They end up in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and I sneak through the door at the last second. 

“Hermione,” Weasley says, “I’ve just thought about this, but we’re going to need a broom. We’re not going to be able to climb out or whatever.”

She rolls her eyes and opens the bathroom door, standing so close to me that I can smell the sweat on her skin. It sounds unpleasant, but it’s not. It’s salty and it’s mixing with her soap or lotion or perfume and it’s intoxicating. She raises Bellatrix’s wand and shouts, “ _ Accio broomstick! _ ”

She looks like she’s struggling to cast with the curved wand; she hasn’t bent it to her will yet. That will make tonight especially dangerous for her. Her wandwork and casting need to be as spot on as usual with the battle looming ahead.

After a minute, the broomstick finally arrives. She hands it to Weasley. I find it somewhat entertaining that she still hates flying after all these years. With all the dangerous shit she’s done, flying should be a piece of cake. But she’s Granger, and she always likes to be in control. It’s clear that she doesn’t understand how in control you actually are when flying a broomstick, but whatever. With all the other forms of magical transportation, she really doesn’t need to fly anyway.

Weasley hisses at a sink, and I think he’s lost the plot for a moment. However, it morphs into a slide of sorts and it’s clear he’s done this before since he just goes down underneath the castle with no hesitation. Granger pauses and looks around the room. 

“I don’t know who you are,” she begins, “but I hope you’re following us because you’re going to help. If you attack, I will not hesitate to kill you, and I know a hundred ways to do it painfully.”

After that, she jumps onto the slide and vanishes. My heart is pounding; I’m in awe of her. She can sense she’s being followed by an invisible person and, rather than panicking, she threatens the person she cannot see. I never would have thought of bravery as a sexy quality, but hers just turned me on. I’m probably a little sick if the threat of a painful death gets me horny, but sweet Salazar, I want her.

I wait for them to come back. During that torturous time period, Voldemort’s voice booms through the castle. “I know that you are preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter and none shall be harmed. Give me Hermione Granger and the school shall remain untouched. Give me both of them, and you shall be rewarded. You have until midnight.”

  
Well, fuck it all, a giant flashing target had just been painted on Granger’s back. I look at my watch. It’s nearly eleven. Everyone on the light side will be wondering what Voldemort wants with  _ her _ . I know they will fight and protect their precious Gryffindor lion and lioness, but many will think I am trying to get to Granger to harm her or bring her to the Dark Lord. That will create a problem.

They’re not gone all that long in the grand scheme of things, but it’s long enough to give me anxiety. When Weasley flies through the slide’s opening, her arms are wrapped tightly around his waist and her face is buried between his shoulder blades. She’s clearly terrified and I almost want to laugh. Weasley’s face is flushed and he’s got a goofy grin on his face. I notice that one of his hands has settled over one of hers, lacing their fingers together. He’s holding her hand and flying on a broomstick with her — something I’d really love to do. If our roles were reversed, I realize I’d probably look the same way if I had Hermione Granger wrapped around me. 

Jealousy washes over me. She’s so comfortable with him. She would never feel that way with me. She would never trust me to keep her safely on the broomstick. She would never lean into my body the way she’s leaning into his, her breasts pressing against his back, her legs straddling his hips.

And then I remember the Manor. When she was there, she  _ did  _ trust me to keep her safe. I stopped Bellatrix from torturing her. I held her tight against my body, her perfect arse writhing against my groin. She got goosebumps when I stroked my thumb on her wrist. I’m too far away to tell if her body is reacting to Weasley’s like it did to my innocent touch, and I want to get closer. I need to know.

As soon as their feet are on the ground, she disentangles herself from the ginger twat I’d love to hex at this very moment. It seems like he’s trying to hold onto her hand, but she pulls herself free. 

“What does that psycho want  _ you _ for, Hermione? I mean, I get Harry, but…”

Hermione glares at him. “I  _ told _ you after we escaped Malfoy Manor, Ron! He informed the Death Eaters that he wants me with all of my mental capacity intact. He thinks I’m brilliant and powerful. Beyond that, I’m not really sure.”

The Weasel mumbles and makes a sour face. It’s almost like he’s  _ jealous _ that the Dark Lord wants Potter and Granger but not him. Utterly fucking ridiculous. What does she see in this wanker?!

  
“We’ve got to find Harry. Do you think he went back up to the Room of Requirement?” She asks.

Weasley shrugs. “Dunno. But I think it’s as good a place as any to start.”

“We should go. Now. Who knows how long we have until Voldemort gets here.”

I move out of their way, but I notice Granger holds the door just a second longer than necessary. She knows that someone is still with them, and I whisper, “You’re safe. Keep going. I’ll watch your back.”

Somehow, Weasley is completely oblivious to this whole exchange. I don’t understand. I wasn’t exactly the quietest when I whispered.

As we travel through the castle, I see signs of defense everywhere. The suits of armor are marching like soldiers. There are booby traps being set up. The light side is definitely not going down without a fight, but I wonder how many of them are willing to use Dark Magic to win the war. I feel like  _ she _ will. She’s one of those rare people who will do whatever it takes, even if it means getting her own hands dirty, to save the whole lot of the Order.

They run into Potter in the seventh floor corridor, on the opposite side from the Room of Requirement. Hermione and Weasley recap their whole adventure to the Chamber of Secrets, and she pulls a bunch of curved, yellowed —  _ bloody hell _ — fangs out of a tiny bag. Where the fuck did she get fangs?

And then it dawns on me. The Basilisk. What the fuck do they need Basilisk fangs for?

Potter speaks in a rush. “I know what the Diadem looks like, and I know where it is. He hid it exactly where I put my old Potions book, where everyone’s been hiding stuff for centuries…”

Well, I certainly know where they’re going to head now. I spent a fucking eternity in the Room of Hidden Things last year.

When we all reach the door, they converse with a few Order members. Longbottom’s grandmother, the cousin I’ve never met, and the she-Weasel all have to exit the room so Potter can transform it into the Room of Hidden Things. 

However, before he can do that, Ron Weasley pipes up and says that they need to warn the bloody house-elves so that they’re not killed in the battle. Of course, this gets Granger all hot and bothered, and I can see a nightmare scenario beginning… 

  
She drops the Basilisk fangs on the floor and starts moving towards Weasley, a glint in her eyes. I don’t know why I do it, but I throw a tripping jinx and she falls to the ground. Weasley helps her up, but he clearly didn’t realize her intentions since he doesn’t start kissing her. Her face is red and embarrassed, and I actually feel kind of bad. Almost.

Okay, so maybe I lied. I know exactly why I did it. I’m not going to watch her and Weasley fall together in the heat of the battle because he made some stupid fucking comment about house-elves. There will be plenty of time for snogging  _ after _ the battle if she’s really interested in him. I’m just helping her to prioritize.

Potter actually looks relieved — maybe he doesn’t want his two best friends swapping spit during a crucial moment in the war. Or maybe he doesn’t want them to at all. Maybe he sees that things between the two of them would never really work out, and that it would make their friendship all sorts of awkward.

They walk into the Room of Hidden Things, and they all split up after hearing a description of the Diadem and the cabinet it’s sitting on. I know I’ve bloody seen it, and I think Potter’s moving in the right direction, so I follow him. I figure Hermione is safe in this room. Who else could possibly know she and Potter are in here?

Just as Potter finds what he’s looking for and starts reaching for it, Crabbe and Goyle materialize. How had I missed those two huge oafs? Sighing, I decide I had better show myself and get them in line. I move nimbly around them and drop my Disillusionment Charm.

“That’s my wand you’re holding, Potter,” I say, causing Crabbe and Goyle to jump and turn around to face me.

Crabbe opens his mouth. “Where did you come from, Malfoy? I haven’t seen you all bloody night. Were you with  _ them _ ?”

I roll my eyes. “No, you half-wit. I was patrolling the castle like Snape asked me to. I saw Potter come in here.”

They look placated enough, and I turn back to Potter. “I’m going to need my wand back,” I say, catching his eye and mouthing  _ Stun Goyle _ to him.

“Finders keepers, Malfoy,” he replies, like we’re children. “Whose wand have you got?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s one I took from the Snatchers that brought you lot to the Manor."

Crabbe and Goyle have their wands pointed directly at Potter. Crabbe decides to speak again. “We’re here to bring you to the Dark Lord, Potter. We’ll be rewarded. Where’s your little Mudblood bitch?”

After he refers to  _ her _ in that way, I shoot a tongue-tying spell at him. Unlike a  _ Silencio _ there’s some pain involved, but the end result is the same. He can’t speak, and he’s always been too dense to master silent casting. He whips around to look at me, and I disarm him.

“Now, Goyle, do I need to do the same to you?” I ask, and he shakes his head. 

Goyle looks at me and says, “I don’t want to be here any more than you do, mate. I’m sick about all I’ve done already. I don’t want to kill anyone.”

I can see a rage burning in Crabbe’s eyes and he hauls his huge fist back, ready to punch either me or Goyle. Potter shoots a  _ Stupefy _ in his direction and Crabbe falls to the floor. I bind him in ropes and look to Goyle. “Can you get him down to the dungeons? Lock him up somewhere until all this is over?”

Goyle nods and looks like he wants to say something.

“What?” I ask, prompting him.

This time, he shakes his head. “I just never expected you’d change your mind. I thought you really liked being a Death Eater.”

Is he mental? Didn’t he notice all the weight I lost last year?! Didn’t he notice I wasn’t sleeping?

Probably not, because I hid it from everyone. I put on a mask when I became a Death Eater, both literally and figuratively.

“We’ll talk when it’s over, Greg. Be safe and steer clear of your father. He’ll expect you to fight,” I say, and he levitates Crabbe out of the room.

Potter climbs up to grab the Diadem since it won’t come when summoned. When he reaches the ground again, Weasley and Granger have found us and their wands are trained on me. I hold my hands up and Potter says, “He’s fine. He just got Crabbe and Goyle out of here. He isn’t going to take us to Voldemort.”

Trusting me, Granger lowers her wand. She eyes me curiously, and I know she’s trying to figure out why or when I’ve had a change of heart. Now is not the time to tell her, though. 

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a Basilisk fang, handing it to Potter. He looks at me for a moment, trying to decide on something.

“Fancy killing a part of Voldemort’s soul?” He asks, and I shake my head. 

“I’ll leave the bravery to you lot,” I reply.

As soon as the fang nears the tiara... Diadem... whatever, it starts hissing at Potter. 

When he stabs it, a burst of flame erupts, catching all the old broken furniture, books, and tapestries. Granger’s eyes are wide, and she looks like she has no clue how to escape a room burning with magical fire. The flames are spreading faster than is natural, but it’s clearly being fueled by the magic inside of the items it’s consuming. Fuck, I don’t really know what to do, either, but I know standing here isn’t going to save anyone. I summon a broom, and both Weasley and Potter do the same. We had seen plenty lying around.

Granger stands there, not moving, not summoning her own broom for a few seconds, and then she’s running towards the doors, but she’ll never make it. Weasley isn’t an agile enough flier and Potter is too far ahead of us. I must get to her. I cannot lose her.

I extend my hand and somehow manage to pull her up, though she’s not properly on the broom. She’s basically on my lap, her face buried in my chest. While this is nice, I would’ve preferred to take her on a broom ride with no threat of death attached to it. As we swoop out of the door, Potter and Weasley’s eyes widen, seeing Hermione curled against my chest.

_ Hermione. Hermione Granger in my arms, against my chest. I guess Snape, miserable bastard that he is, was fucking right. When it came down to it, I would risk my life to save hers. _

As soon as we land, Potter removes her from my arms. She looks at me, still shaking a bit. She’s looking like she wants me to hold on to her again, but I can’t make myself reach out to her. Just like with Weasley, this is  _ not  _ the time. Everyone’s focus needs to be on the battle, which is raging throughout the castle at this very moment. I can hear it.

“Thank you, Malfoy,” she murmurs. “That’s twice you’ve saved me.”

I smirk at her. “Don’t worry, Granger. I haven’t even begun to make up for all the shit I’ve done to you through the years. I’ll save you again tonight if I get the chance.”

She strides towards me and slaps my arm. “You’re still a prat.”

“Always,” I reply, and she smiles.

Potter looks between us, and then he takes off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Bloody weird.”

You’re telling me, Potter. You’re telling me. I’m here to protect a Muggle-born witch, and I’m pretty sure all the thinking I’ve done this year, everything I’ve remembered about her, has made me fall in love with her.

She’s talking to Potter again. “That’s five down, Harry! One more to go. We need to find him and that bloody snake. Look inside his mind!”

Potter closes his eyes, holding a hand to his scar. After a few moments, his green eyes pop open. “He’s in the Shrieking Shack. The snake’s with him, it’s got some sort of magical protection around it. He’s just sent Malfoy’s father to go find Snape.”

She stiffens and looks at me, like she’s debating if I can still be trusted. 

Potter, helpfully, says, “Your father is worried about you, Malfoy. He’s asked Voldemort to stop the battle so he can find you.”

I scoff. “He’s just worried the Malfoy line will end tonight.”

The Golden Trio argue about who will go to the Shrieking Shack, and Granger says it makes the most sense for her to go.

Did I not just save her life? Why is she so eager to throw it away again?

“Listen, you Gryffindor prats! Stop arguing about who’s going to head to the Shrieking Shack! If my father is there, and Voldemort and Snape are there, what good will  _ one  _ of you do?”

Potter looks at me again, and it’s fucking weird. “I hate to say it, but he’s right. We need to stick together if we’ve got any chance at killing the snake.”

“Right,” Granger says. “You two go under the cloak, and I’ll disillusion myself since I’m the only one who can do it properly.”

Swot. Such a bloody swot.

Weasley’s eyes bulge. “Hermione, you know that cloak does more than just make you invisible. You’re bloody well going under the cloak!”

She rolls her eyes at him. “You know we don’t all fit under it anymore, Ronald. Would you like to run about the castle with your Weasley-red hair on display for all the Death Eaters to see?”

I let out a long sigh. “Only your feet will be visible. Get under the cloak with them, Granger. Don’t let my noble actions in the Room of Hidden Things go to waste.”

She laughs, and it’s completely inappropriate timing, but the sound gives me hope. It’s pure happiness, and I’ve managed to pull it from her lips. 

“Where will you go, Malfoy?” She asks. 

I shrug, not sure what I’ll do if I’m not protecting her.

Potter says, “Stay safe. If we don’t come back, you need to kill that fucking snake. It’s the only way to kill Voldemort. He won’t really die unless the snake is gone.”

Well, there it is. I have a task from Saint Potter. 

I am officially a turncoat.


	11. 2 May 1998

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort's speech is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

It’s been nearly an hour since I parted ways with Potter and Granger, and I’ve been taking out as many Death Eaters as possible for them while Disillusioned. I’m praying that they’re all okay — my father and Snape included. And, yes, even the ginger twat.

Voldemort’s voice booms through the castle a second time. “You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.”

What a load of utter bullshit. And then it starts again.

“I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, the battle will recommence. Only, this time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

Nothing about Hermione this time… 

I start walking through the corridors, rushing down the stairs, and step through the wide-open front doors of the castle. I need to get to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, just in case she does something fucking foolish like throwing herself to the wolves with Potter. As I’m heading there, I see three pairs of feet moving across the lawn. I follow again, and once they’re safely inside the castle, Potter pulls the invisibility cloak off and shoves it into his pocket. Ron Weasley has spotted his family, Granger hot on his heels, and they’re all around a lifeless redheaded man.

Granger’s arms wrap around Weasley’s little sister, and she holds her tight. Potter sees me and approaches. “We didn’t see your father, Malfoy, but Snape is dead.”

Of all the things I had been expecting him to say, that was certainly not one of them. Snape was the only one who knew, really knew, where my loyalties were for all of this year. He was the only one who really  _ understood _ my predicament.

Potter can see that Snape’s death is really affecting me, but he continues on. “I’m going up to the Headmaster’s office to use the Pensieve. Snape gave me memories to view. He also told me to find you. Do you want to come with me?”

I nod, and go with him. I know my parents are likely worried sick, but I can’t go out there. I can’t face them, can’t face the Dark Lord, can’t bear to be away from where Granger is, just in case the battle breaks out again.

Potter and I dive into memories, and I find out the Muggle-born that Snape cared for was actually Potter’s mother. He had known her since they were small children, and then she was sorted into Gryffindor. They managed to maintain a friendship through to their fifth year, and then he called her a Mudblood. Their friendship was never repaired, despite his pleading and endless apologies. 

It makes me think about how many times I’ve called Granger that horrid word. Is she more forgiving than Potter’s mother? Or will she never really want to be friends with me?

Snape and Lily Evans were growing up as Voldemort was gaining power, just like Hermione and I have been. The story is eerily similar, although I’ve never been friends with Granger. It makes me wonder, though, if we were dropped into the timeline twenty years from now and Voldemort was truly gone, would we become friends? Could we have bonded in the library over homework and books? Could we have done Prefect rounds together without the taunts and glares?

And then I’m ripped out of my thoughts as Dumbledore and Snape are talking about me, my mission, and Dumbledore asks Snape to kill him. There is a curse spreading through his body, and he is ready to die. At the end of all that, however, he starts talking about a time when Voldemort will keep Nagini close and protected. I think about the events of the day, and I realize we have reached  _ that _ time. Dumbledore tells Snape that Potter must surrender himself to Voldemort, that a part of Voldemort lives inside of Potter and, in order to defeat the him, Potter must be killed by the Dark Lord himself.

I look over at the Boy-Who-Lived... Scarhead... my childhood nemesis... and I honestly can’t fucking believe that he has to commit suicide-by-Voldemort for all of this to be over. His face has lost all color, and there is an eerie calm over his features. It’s like he has known all along. He quietly says, “Neither can live while the other survives.”

I’m jerked back into the memories one last time. I see myself with Snape, and I know exactly what’s coming. I never wanted Potter to see it, to know how weak I am when it comes to his best friend. He sees me gazing at her dueling the night Dumbledore was killed, the first conversation right after the Ministry break-in, the conversation from the time that I told him I’d save her. And then we’re talking about Christmas Eve and my conversation with Luna Lovegood, and that leads right into my pain and fear after Malfoy Manor. 

Potter’s mouth hangs open, but he doesn’t look at me. I’m honestly not sure if I want him to. I know I’ve had trouble coming to terms with this whole Granger thing — it took me months to realise I’d save  _ her _ and not myself — and Potter has about half an hour left to live, so he doesn’t have time to really process it. He’s going to have to accept that Snape’s memories are real, that I can be trusted. I think he’s most of the way there already, but I won’t know until I talk to him. 

The last memory is recent. It’s just Snape telling me to give the Golden Trio whatever they need. When we’re thrown from the Pensieve, Potter just stares at me. I refuse to break the silence so, after a few minutes, he finally does. “Malfoy… How long?”

I shrug. “A year, maybe two. I started noticing her before then, but I’ve only really thought about it and figured things out this year.”

“Good. I’m glad,” he says. “I need to know that someone will be there to protect her. She’s like my sister, and I… I can’t do what I have to do unless I know she’ll be looked after.”

“You know Weasley would do that,” I reply.

Potter shakes his head. “Ron thinks he wants Hermione. He’s built the idea of her up in his head since they can never seem to get the timing right. Or mainly he’s too thick to just ask her out until it’s too late. They’ll drive each other mad in the long run.”

I eye him skeptically, and then I remember that this prat is about to walk straight into the arms of Death. What reason does he have to lie to me?

“I’ll look after her tonight, Potter. After that, I’m sure I’ll be off to Azkaban with all the other Death Eaters.”

He shakes his head. “Tell her. Tell her everything, and she will fight for you.” Potter moves Snape’s memories back into a small vial, and then he creates one for his own memories. He sets the vials inside the basin of the Pensieve and puts it back in the cabinet. He continues, “Tell her where to find these memories. You don’t deserve Azkaban, and she will make sure you don’t end up there.”

I nod, unsure of what to say.

“One thing, Malfoy. Hermione loves harder than anyone else I’ve ever met. She nags and she’s obsessively organized and neat. She will drive you absolutely mental if you take her into a bookstore and expect to spend anything less than an hour browsing. There is no point in trying to distract her from reading or studying. You’ll just end up with a testy witch next to you and a long lecture. If the war is won, she’s planning on going back to Hogwarts to finish up, and no one will be able to talk her out of it,” Potter explains, giving me all the information he thinks I need. Really, these are all things I already know or could have guessed. “She’ll push you harder than anyone ever has, but it’s because she wants you to be the best version of yourself. If she loves you, it’s unconditional and forever. She can be forgiving to a fault if she already cares about you. Don’t abuse that, Malfoy, or I swear on my honor as a Gryffindor, I will come back and haunt your arse.” 

I shake his hand because, really, what else can I do? I know I have to say something, so I settle on, “Thank you, Potter. If I’m not in Azkaban and she’ll have me, I’ll take care of her. I may have to work because I’ll surely be disinherited, but she’s worth it.”

He manages a laugh, and I really don’t know how.

“If you see her before everyone finds out what I’ve done, don’t tell her where I’ve gone. She’ll come after me, and I don’t want her anywhere near Voldemort,” he states.

He pulls the invisibility cloak out of his pocket and a Snitch from a pouch he has strung around his neck. I sit in the chair I’ve occupied so many times this year and watch him disappear.

“Remember, Malfoy, I’ll haunt you.”

And he’s gone.

* * *

After twenty minutes, I head back down the main staircase. I look into the Great Hall, and I see her darting around from person to person, helping whomever she can. Her hair is tied in a bun, Bellatrix’s wand stuck through it.

_ Fuck! I still have her wand! Why haven’t I given it to her? _

As I start to make my way into the Great Hall, Voldemort announces that Harry Potter is dead. My eyes are on her, and I can see her freeze. Tears well in her eyes, and Weasley starts moving towards her. He throws a long, freckled arm around her shoulders, and they walk with the rest of the crowd, out to where Voldemort stands triumphant. I stay hidden — no one can see me — but I can hear everything from Voldemort’s pompous words, and my aunt’s insane laughter, to Neville Longbottom’s speech. When I look out through a hole in the side of the castle, I can see Potter’s body in Hagrid’s arms. 

The Sorting Hat has been jammed onto Longbottom’s head and set ablaze. Neville screams out, then all hell breaks loose. He rips the hat from his head, pulling the Sword of Gryffindor from its folds. He cuts Nagini’s fucking head off and I can see the panic written on the Dark Lord’s face. 

He is mortal again. The last string tying him to this life is his mortal body. I’m still not sure of the specifics, but I’ve heard enough to know he had tethered himself to the earth with items.

Potter’s body is nowhere to be seen. Is it possible… Could he really have lived  _ again _ ?

And then I’m frantically searching for curly brown hair and a denim jacket. She’s out there dueling with a wand that isn’t working properly for her because I’m a fucking idiot. I see tons of ginger hair — every fucking Weasley alive must be here, battling. 

I hear Bellatrix’s mad laugh, cackling because she’s in her element, and then she says, “I believe that wand belongs to me, you filthy little Mudblood!”

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!  _

I look around, terrified I won’t find her in time. I listen intently, following the sound of Bellatrix’s voice.

“How dare you! How dare you steal a wand from a pureblood witch! From a woman of the House of Black!”

I see my aunt’s curls, longer and darker than the ones I’ve been obsessing over for the past year. She’s slowly moving towards a small figure on the ground in a defensive position, crouching behind a large chunk of the castle that’s fallen to the ground. Bella blasts it away, and I see Hermione throw up a weak  _ Protego _ , the wand still not obeying her properly.

In that moment, I can only think about  _ her.  _ I must get to her. 

I cannot lose her. 

I run faster than I ever have in my life; Bella is still moving at a leisurely pace, taunting and playing with her prey. I scream a stronger shield charm, and Hermione’s terrified eyes meet mine. I pull her wand from my pocket and shout, “Granger, catch!”

And she snags it from mid-air, her wand humming happily when it’s reunited with her hand. A smile breaks out over her face and she shoves Bellatrix’s wand back into her hair. She looks at me and laughs, “I swear, Malfoy, it’s like you’re my guardian angel. I promise the third time’s the charm.”

I snort and drop the shield, just in time for her to fire an  _ Impedimenta _ squarely at Bella while I throw a Slicing Hex. She chooses to block my spell, so her movements become even slower, her reaction time severely impacted. Granger looks at me briefly, like she’s asking permission to do something. 

“ _ Levicorpus! _ ” She shouts, and my aunt dangles in the air by one ankle, the hem of her black dress slowly falling towards her waist. 

“Granger, seriously, I could’ve lived without seeing my loony aunt’s knickers!” I shout.

She lets out a laugh, which is really not the sanest thing in this moment, and then she levels her wand on Bella again. I can see a look I’ve never before seen on Hermione’s face — it’s like the darkness of the battle is seeping into her or drawing her in, making her want to play with Bellatrix, using the Dark Lord’s rules. However, I won’t let that happen. Protecting her doesn’t only mean saving her life; I won’t let her turn herself into a person she will hate later. 

I look at my aunt, one of the only three people left alive from the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, and I decide to end her. At the same time, Granger and I both scream, “ _ Sectumsempra _ !”

And the tiny bit of color that Bella had in her face drains away, her blood spilling all over the green lawn in front of Hogwarts. It’s a striking juxtaposition — red and green, Gryffindor and Slytherin. I reach for Hermione’s hand and squeeze it. Her face turns sharply towards me, and her breath hitches. I had felt something akin to electricity run through me when I squeezed her hand, and I think she felt it too. 

A loud scream rings from the castle and the moment is broken. She starts running headfirst into trouble again, and I truly wonder if I can just stand by while she does this over and over. 

The answer is no — I won’t just stand by her — I’ll run into battle beside her to make sure she survives. 

My legs are longer, so I catch up to her quickly. She glances over and breathlessly says, “I’m sorry! I know I said the third time was the charm, but—”

Potter is speaking to Voldemort, telling everyone to stand back. He gives some speech about the Elder Wand and how it never really belonged to Snape because Snape hadn’t been the one to disarm him.

Holy shit. I disarmed Dumbledore. 

Potter confirms what I had just deduced; I am technically the master of the Elder Wand, though Potter disarmed me, so it may be him? It’s all convoluted and I’m really not sure of how it all works. Granger’s eyes are focused on the battle, focused on Potter. I focus on the Dark Lord. If he kills Potter this time, I have a feeling it’ll stick.

But I can mean the Killing Curse when it comes to the Dark Lord, and if Potter falls, I will use it because I know he’s coming for me next.

She is a ball of nervous energy next to me, rolling her wand between her palms, ready to grip it and fire a brutal hex at a moment’s notice. She’s standing to my right, and I’m brought back to the silly thought I had about holding her hand while we both work in the library. The timing is completely inappropriate, but I wrap an arm around her shoulders, physically tying her to me for the moment. When she leans into me, I  _ almost  _ kiss the top of her head. 

But we haven’t talked yet, and it wouldn’t  _ be _ right, even if it  _ feels _ so perfectly right. 

And then it happens. Two wands lock in battle, a jet of green fighting a jet of red. I guess, technically, it’s my wand dueling Voldemort’s, but I digress. I just hold  _ Hermione _ close to me, waiting to see what the final outcome is. She’s shaking against me, nervous energy making her body tremble and magic crackle. In a matter of less than a minute, it’s over. Potter lives and Voldemort dies. 

Hermione tears herself away from me without a second thought, running towards Potter. Weasley meets her there, and the three of them are in a celebratory embrace. The rest of the Weasleys rush toward them, and I lose sight of her. I stay put, knowing my presence won’t be easily accepted by the redheaded clan. 

I feel a hand on my arm and I turn. My mother is beside me, alive and well. I pull her into a hug, and she wraps her thin arms around me. Before I can even comprehend what’s happening, my father joins the embrace. My father is showing affection in public.

How unbefitting of a Malfoy.

As my small family is reunited, a pair of gorgeous brown eyes takes in the scene. She smiles sadly and turns away, walking out of the Great Hall. I break from my parents and look my father in the eyes. 

“I don’t mean to ruin this reunion, Father, but I think I should tell you something,” I state, and my mother nods, even as her eyes fill with tears. “I think I might love a Muggle-born witch, and I’ve been helping Potter all night.”

“Your mother helped him, too. She told the Dark Lord he had no pulse,” my father replies. “If you really feel the need to throw hundreds of years of pure lineage away, she had better be a powerful witch, at the very least.”

I grin. “Oh, she is. I do believe you’ve met her, Father. Her name is Hermione Granger.” 

His jaw drops, and I turn to follow the path she has just taken.

* * *

  
  


I’m looking all over for her. Finally, when I reach what was the courtyard, I see her sitting on a bench by herself. Her eyes are closed and she looks peaceful. I just watch her for a few moments. I’m starting to wonder if she’s fallen asleep, and then her eyes flutter open. She sees me and smiles, giving me all the invitation I need. I climb through some rubble and sit beside her on the bench.

I greet her in a voice much softer than my usual. “Granger.”

“Malfoy,” she replies, but she doesn’t turn to face me. 

I look down between us. Her left hand is resting on the bench so I grab it with my right, lace my fingers between hers, and squeeze. She looks up at me, shocked and pleading for an answer. I have trouble getting the words out.

“I… I like you, Granger. In fact, I have for years. You’re smart and gorgeous and brave and  _ good _ . So fucking good, and I’ve never met anyone like you before—“

She cuts me off with a kiss, and for a moment, my brain short circuits and I can’t move. Her fingers are intertwined with mine. Her lips are on mine. She must feel something here too. 

I feel her starting to stiffen, probably feeling rejected because I haven’t fucking kissed her back. It jolts me into action. I bring my other hand up to the back of her head, tangling my fingers in her hair, angling her head so I can control the kiss. I part my lips and use my tongue to part hers as well. Even after hours of battle and running about the castle, she tastes like a dream, like my favourite firewhisky and the sweetest bar of chocolate from Honeydukes. I wonder if this is what Amortentia would taste like to me — I already know it smells like her flowery perfume, old library books, and the violet ink she writes her class notes out with.

Does Amortentia taste different to everyone as well? I can’t even remember — my brain is so fogged with want in this moment. 

Our tongues stroke against each other, and it is perfection. I remember the first ten or so times I kissed Pansy, how awkward it had been as our lips met until we learned each other. I don’t know if it’s because I’m five years older and actually have a clue what I’m doing, or if we just naturally kiss the same way and fit together, but I’m praying it’s the latter. I’m praying this is just  _ right  _ and that she feels it, too.

A small hum of pleasure passes from her lips to mine, and I slowly end the kiss, moving my lips away from hers. I keep my hand in her hair and rest my forehead against hers. “Please tell me you felt that,” I say, and it nearly sounds like I’m desperate. 

I guess, in a way, I am.

_ Hermione _ doesn’t speak. She just nods and presses our lips back together, coaxing me to keep snogging her. She turns her body to straddle the bench without breaking the kiss and scoots closer. I do the same, knocking our knees together and causing her to smile against my lips. I wrap my arms around her and lift, placing her thighs on top of mine, pulling her closer. I don’t rush things and grab her arse or haul her close enough that I can grind against her; I don’t want to risk breaking the delicate magic in this moment.

However, it seems that Potter doesn’t mind interrupting whatever is starting to bloom between me and Granger. He clears his throat, though he looks a little embarrassed about trying to get our attention. A lovely blush stains Hermione’s cheeks, and I’m so happy I’m the one who’s put it there. We both turn our heads to face him, and he winces, “I’m sorry to do this, but…”

“Let me guess. They’re rounding up anyone who has a Dark Mark or was actively fighting on his side,” I sneer, knowing that this moment had been too good to last.

Potter nods, and Hermione’s eyes narrow. “Where is Kingsley? This is ridiculous, and it’s not happening!”

I stand, taking her with me since my arms are still around her, and she squeals. “Put me down!”

I laugh, but I don’t release her. “I’m not worried about all of this, Granger. I’m sure that you and Potter will get me out in no time at all. I bet you can’t wait to snog me again, so you’ll work extra hard.”

She leans in and kisses me again, wrapping her legs around my waist like a little vixen. “I don’t want to wait at all,” she whispers, and my heart starts racing.

I step over the bench — it’s not easy with her wrapped around me like the vines that twine around her wand. I set her on her feet next to Potter, and she grabs my hand.

“Right now, or can I have a few moments to talk to her?” I ask, and she holds on tighter.

Potter sighs. “Take a few minutes. I’ll tell Kingsley you’re with Hermione and will be along soon.”

He turns and walks away, leaving us on our own. I turn her so she’s facing me. I know I’m about to start the longest, most embarrassing speech of my life, but I need to tell her everything in case I don’t get out of Azkaban as quickly as I think I will.

“Listen, don’t interrupt, Granger. I’ve done a ton of thinking since September, and here is what I’ve managed to figure out. Somehow, I know your birthday is September 19th. I can meticulously document every time you’ve been in the Hospital Wing since starting Hogwarts and, given that it’s a fairly regular occurrence, I think that’s pretty impressive in itself.”

She giggles a little, forcing me to pause for a moment. “I figured out that my Amortentia smells like you, like the library and flowery perfume and that weird purple ink you use for all of your class notes when you’re rewriting them. I realised that your curls are gorgeous and our blood is the same, the same color, containing the same magic.”

I can see tears welling up in her eyes, but I know she’s hanging on my every word. “Snape kept me updated of your movements, and he helped me work all this shit inside my head out. He helped me to realize that I was always seeking your attention, trying to pull your focus to me. The night Dumbledore died, I saw you as we were fleeing, and I froze. You looked fierce and strong and determined, and I couldn’t look away. He had to drag me out; I wanted to help you even then. I was worried about you dueling Death Eaters, even though I had been the one to let them in.”

I take a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t know how long this will take to sort out, or when I’ll see you again after today, but I need you to know… I care for you. I don’t want to say I’m in love with you yet — we don’t know each other all that well. But I want to.”

She pulls me into an embrace and kisses me passionately, winding her fingers into my hair. After I pull away, she looks up at me and says, “Noted, Draco. You don’t want to say you’re in love with me until you’re sure I’m there with you.”

She’s infuriating and wonderful, highly logical and intuitive — she can see right through me — and I feel like I should be nervous about it. But I’m not. 

She holds my hand as we walk towards the Great Hall, our separation inevitable. I stroke my thumb along her skin again, and I can feel the gentle thrum of something between us. The expression on her face makes me think that she can, too.

When we reach Kingsley Shacklebolt, she glares at him. “I want you to know that I think this is absolutely ridiculous. Draco fought for our side and protected me all night, Kingsley. And he stalled at Malfoy Manor so that I wouldn’t be tortured into insanity,” she states.

Shacklebolt looks at our joined hands and then sighs. “I’m not making any exceptions today. I’m sending all three Malfoys back to the Manor under house arrest. Without their wands. It’s not a pardon, but it’s not Azkaban. Is that a somewhat fair compromise?”

She considers it for a moment and nods. “I’m assuming their trials will be as expedited as reasonably possible? Harry and I will both testify for Draco.”

“Yes, and Mr. Potter has also agreed to testify for Narcissa. Lucius is already sitting down to tea with a solicitor and an Auror making a deal,” he replies.

“Fine. Will they be allowed visitors?” She asks.

“Yes, from a select list of people.”

“I want my name put on that list,” Hermione demands, and the new Minister of Magic sighs.

“Anything else, Ms. Granger?” He questions, clearly irritated with her.

She shakes her head. “The rest can wait. Please owl me a time we can meet. I’ll need to arrange international travel to Australia.”

Without further explanation, she turns her back on the Minister. She stands on her tiptoes to capture my lips in front of everyone in the Great Hall, and I’m swelling with pride. Yes, the Gryffindor Princess wants me, and I want her. 

When she ends the kiss, she simply says, “I promise I’ll see you very soon.”

Shacklebolt confiscates my wand and has an Auror escort me to the Manor, taking me away from her once again.


	12. 9 May 1998

It’s been a week and she still hasn’t come to the Manor. She’s owled me a few times. Her days are filled with press conferences and debriefings, giving statements to put Death Eaters away for life. My days are filled with nothing — I can’t leave the Manor, so I have the option of spending time in the library or flying within the wards. 

When I see an owl approaching the Manor, I know it’s from her and she’s likely not coming again today. I’m beginning to think that she’s regretting the kiss, that someone (coughWeasleycoughcough) is telling her she shouldn’t be with me. I open the envelope and I see it’s actually a letter with my trial date. It’s in three days, on the 12th.

An hour later, I feel the wards shift. My heart leaps, and I run down the stairs to the Floo. Shacklebolt had it connected to Potter’s Floo at Grimmauld Place. When I arrive downstairs, she’s standing in the drawing room, and I’m so happy that Bella didn’t… no, I won’t go there. My parents follow quickly behind me, and we all greet her. Father is cool, but polite nonetheless. Mother embraces her like they’ve been friends for years. It’s surreal, and I can tell she thinks so, too. When I take her in my arms, she squeezes me tightly, and it’s better than I remembered.

Her hair cascades down her back in long, dark waves and they’re not frizzy at all. She’s in a set of nicely fitted dress robes, and I wonder if she’s wearing them for my parents’ sake. I extend my elbow to her and lead her out into the gardens, and as soon as we’re well-hidden behind some tall shrubs, she wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me with so much heat that any doubts I had vanish into thin air. 

“I missed you,” she breathes. “I don’t know how considering you haven’t been in my life before, but I missed you so much. I’ve been dying to get here.”

I respond by kissing her again. I’ve wanted to do this again so fucking much. 

“You’ll be there on Tuesday, right?” I pant when our mouths separate for a moment.

“Yes, I’m testifying,” she replies before punctuating it with yet another kiss.

After a few seconds, I separate our lips and step back. “Okay, we need to slow down,” I breathe. “A man can only take so much snogging, Granger.”

She smiles at me and grabs my belt buckle. I put my hand over hers. “We can’t. Not here. I don’t know how much you know about pureblood courting, but I’m sure my parents will be out here in about a minute.”

She pouts, and it’s so unexpected. I didn’t think she’d want to move fast. I mean, I want her and I want her right fucking now, but I figured she’d be the type to hold out. 

As if on cue, my parents stroll around the corner. 

“Draco,” my mother remarks, “you two didn’t get very far.”

I catch the double entendre, and nearly groan at the look on her face. “No, we didn’t get far at all. We’ve just been talking.”

It’s then that I realize her hand is still trapped under mine on my belt buckle and she’s absolutely horrified. She quickly pulls away, and I almost want to laugh. 

“Right. Talking about the trial,” Hermione chirps.

“I can see that,” my father drawls. “If you want to… talk some more, you could go back inside the Manor, Draco. I’m sure Ms. Granger will find the library very… exciting.”

Hermione turns crimson since my father’s tone is overtly teasing. I glare at him but he just smirks.

My mother steps in. “Ms. Granger, would you like to stay for dinner? I know you haven’t had much time to yourself, so I will understand if you say no.”

“I’d love to, Mrs. Malfoy. Thank you,” she responds, giving my mother the right answer  _ and _ doing it politely. She’s racking up points.

  
I grasp her hand again, leading her back towards the Manor. “Granger, I think I  _ will _ show you the library before dinner. It will certainly make you want to come back here again. I’ll even let you choose a few books to take home,” I tease, but she looks like I’ve just told her I’ve freed all the house-elves in Britain.


	13. 12 May 1998

I’m sitting in a chair in the center of a courtroom. Fortunately for me, the chains haven’t sprung to life and I’m not in a magic-dampening set of shackles. I’m viewing Snape’s memories for the second time, and I’m a little embarrassed that the Wizengamot is privy to my feelings for Hermione. I really wish that something so personal, so special to me, could remain private, but I’d also rather not be shipped off to Azkaban. Potter testifies, and then Hermione comes in. She tells them about the Manor and the times I saved her life during the battle. 

One of the witches in front trills, “Aren’t you and Draco Malfoy in a relationship now?”

Hermione clears her throat and looks up at the witch. “We haven’t quite defined our relationship. Are you making this inference because we were seen kissing after the battle?”

“Yes, Ms. Granger. How do we know your testimony is unbiased? After all, he is the only person in your age group who is a marked Death Eater.”

I see the flames ignite in her eyes. She’s about to go to battle for me, and my body’s reaction is completely inappropriate.

“Well, I gave you a list of facts. Harry, Ron, and I were captured and brought to Malfoy Manor. Fact. Draco stopped his aunt from torturing me and helped us buy time to escape. Fact. When the Room of Hidden Things caught on fire, Draco pulled me onto his broomstick and flew me to safety. Fact. When Bellatrix Lestrange had me cornered, he saved me again by using a  _ Protego _ and returning my original wand, which had been left at Malfoy Manor by the Snatchers. Fact,” she states, emphasizing each point. “If I told you Draco Malfoy was the best person I’d ever met and perfectly innocent of all crimes, you could call me biased. Yes, he has the Dark Mark, but no one else our age had Voldemort living in their home.”

The witch leans forward and says, “Thank you, Ms. Granger. That will be all.”

A few other witnesses give testimony about my actions during the Battle of Hogwarts, and then the Wizengamot leaves the courtroom to deliberate. When they come back, I’m told that I will remain under house arrest until September first, and then I will re-do my seventh year at Hogwarts. All in all, it’s fair — I did let Death Eaters into the castle. I did use Unforgivables. I do bear the Dark Mark, and I will for my whole life.

When I exit the courtroom with my parents, Hermione is waiting for me. “Were you pardoned? Do you want to go have lunch?”   
  


“I wasn’t pardoned, Granger,” I reply, and her face falls.

“What?! Why?!” She yells.

My father looks at her and says, “They did not elaborate. Both Draco and I will remain under house arrest. Draco’s will end September first, as long as he agrees to go back to Hogwarts.”

Her face falls, and I’m not sure why. I ask the Auror escorting us back to the Manor for just one moment, and he grants it — no one will say no to Hermione Granger.

“What’s wrong, Granger?” I ask, wrapping my arms around her.

She sighs, pressing her fingers to her eyes. “I’m going to Australia and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I was going to ask you to come with me, but I suppose that can’t happen now.”

“What’s in Australia?”

“My parents,” she whispers, a tear falling from one of her eyes. “I  _ Obliviated  _ them and sent them there before I went to the Burrow last summer.” 

Fuck. She erased her parents’ memories?! I know she did it to protect them, but how is she surviving this?

I pull her even closer, and I kiss the top of her head. “Granger, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I wish I could come with you.”

“What if I’m gone all summer? That’s not fair to you, Draco.”

I laugh. “It’s not like I have the option to go out on the town, Hermione. Go to Australia and settle things with your parents. Fix their memories, and then come home and we’ll either have some summer left, or we’ll go off to Hogwarts together. I’m not worried about it. Just owl when you can.”

She looks into my eyes like she’s checking to see if I’m being honest. I know I’ll miss her since I already consider her mine, but she needs to do this, and I can’t go with her. I’ll set her free and all that nonsense, and she’ll come back in time for Hogwarts.

She kisses me softly, and she says, “Let’s just say goodbye now. I don’t think I can do it now, and then do it again in a few hours.”

I nod, even though I think it’s rubbish. I’d like to spend as much time with her as possible before she goes, but I can tell she’s already struggling. Potter said she loves harder than anyone else — perhaps this is part of it.

“I will see you when you get back. If you need anything while you’re there, just send us an owl. I’m serious, Hermione. We will help you in any way we can. We’ll send an expert if you need it,” I tell her.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and she kisses me once more. 

As she starts to pull her arms away, I catch her hand and kiss her knuckles. She smiles and blushes. 

“See you soon,” I say, and she turns to walk away.


	14. 28 August 1998

Australia was much harder for me than I thought it would be. I missed her so much, and each letter she sent contained awful news. No one could seem to restore her parents’ memories. My father sent three different experts, and none of them had a clue. It seems the Dark Lord was right about one thing — she is  _ extremely _ gifted with Memory Charms.

The letters decreased in frequency once she had accepted that she wouldn’t find the solution this summer. Instead, she struck up a friendship with them and said she liked to spend her summer holidays in Australia. They spent a few hours together in the morning, reading on the beach. She sent me some pictures — strange ones that didn’t move at all — and she looked beautiful in them. Her skin was tanned and she had more freckles than usual. I’m sure I would have been as red as one of her Gryffindor t-shirts if I had been there.

However, we’re due to head back to Hogwarts in just a few days, and I haven’t heard from her in over a week. I’m starting to worry that she’s changed her mind, that she doesn’t want to try this with me. Or that she’s decided to stay close to her parents in Australia. I can’t leave England for the next three years — a stipulation added to the probation of all former Death Eaters when it was discovered that some had escaped the confines of Britain. 

I’m on the library window seat when I see the owl approaching. Disappointment settles in my chest when I see it’s just my Hogwarts letter. I likely have all the required books already since I was technically a seventh year last year, too. However, a badge falls out of the envelope and into my lap.

_ No fucking way. Why would I be made Head Boy again? _

I open the letter from McGonagall, and I see violet ink in the bottom right corner. While I’m disappointed she didn’t come see me when she arrived home, the sneaky little note makes me feel euphoric. It’s filled with so much promise, and it feeds the fantasies I’d had a year ago.

_ Draco -  _

_ I hope you won’t mind sharing a dorm with me…  _ _ I think McGonagall is annoyed with me already; she wanted to separate us, and I put my foot down. I think three months is enough time apart, don’t you? _

_ See you on September first. _

_ HG xxx _

_ PS- Isn’t it funny that these initials could mean Hermione Granger…  _

_ or simply Head Girl? _

This ‘eighth year’ is shaping up to be the best year ever, and I can hardly wait. I do hope all of my fantasies get fulfilled… 

At the very least, I’ll be experiencing one regularly — waking up with Hermione Granger in my arms. I’m sure it will take me no time at all to convince her of the benefits of co-sleeping.


End file.
